


The Warlock of Summerland Court

by SherlockMalfoy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur Returns, BAMF Merlin, Gen, HP: EWE, Immortal Merlin, Master of Death Harry Potter, New Magic, Old Magic, Post-Canon, Reincarnation, Suicide Attempt Mention, The Old Religion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-25 11:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13833498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlockMalfoy/pseuds/SherlockMalfoy
Summary: There are times Merlin wanted to intervene. There are times in his long life that he had done so without worry. But when the Wizard Wars and the rise of Voldemort happened, it was the warning of a prophesy that stayed his hand and kept him from intervening.The prophesy of the last druid was quite clear. He could sit back and watch and wait for the outcome. Or he could help Harry Potter defeat Voldemort and lose any chance of Arthur ever returning from Avalon.As painful as it was, Merlin let it all happen. He learned a very long time ago that you just don't screw around with prophecies.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story holds the entirety of Merlin as canon. Harry Potter canon but AU after Battle of Hogwarts and no epilogue.
> 
> This was written entirely steam of consciousness, unbeta'd and I don't know if it'll ever be actually "finished" as I pretty much am just writing this as pure stress relief. Therefore, I have no clue where this is going, there's no solid plot other than "This is what Merlin did during Harry Potter, here's what he's doing after Harry Potter." 
> 
> Characters, Relatioships, and Tags will be added as they pop up.

 

Merlin had sequestered himself in Summerland Court for nearly 100 years. He and Aithusa the only occupants. And even then... it was just him and a crippled dragon who'd healed as much as she ever would. There were no more students who sought the Old Ways. The magic of the earth, sky, and seas. He was now the last. Even the Druids, who he had fought so hard to protect and help thrive, were gone.

Their last gift of knowledge left to the world a prophesy that had gnawed at him for two centuries. A coming of mighty warriors, and a dire warning for him not to interfere.

He had felt a shift in magic when destiny had reared her ugly head once again, and the prophesied Serpent had risen. He had felt the breaking of natural order no less than seven times before the magic stilled and, for a time, went silent.

After eleven years he had a visitor at Summerland Court. An old man who reminded Merlin so much of the stories about himself and Arthur. Right down to the long white beard and pointed hat. He was asked to come teach at the recommendation of a mutual friend, Nicholas Flamel. Merlin could not.

In the end, the the Mirror of Erised was borrowed from his vault at the Gringotts bank in Moscow. It was returned after a year. Included had been a very thoughtful note and an invitation to come teach, once again the same position had opened at the prestigious Hogwarts school.

Each summer, he received a politely worded letter, delivered by a phoenix, to invite him to come fill the open position. And each time he returned a letter in decline. And as time went on, he made the responses even more firmly worded.

Four years following the visit of the old man, he felt a disturbance in the magic of the earth. It cried out, and had left him bedridden for a week. It was a wrongness so powerful that once he had been well enough to travel he had traced it to its source. A cemetery with a recent aura of murder and magical perversion he had not felt since the ancient days of Camelot. When magic was still raw and instinctual; a primordial force. There was dark magic there akin to the magic of Morgana or Morgause. A poison in the very fabric of reality.

Soon after he learned of the return of the Serpent. And it now had a name. One that if spoken brought terror and misfortune. And so he knew enough to never speak it.

From his place at Summerland Court he kept watch in the years to follow. Only once more did the old man come to seek him out, and had a difficult time in doing so.

He spent four days with Merlin, seeking to persuade him to join his Order of magical warriors, never knowing to whom he truly spoke. Upon the third evening, over a supper of rabbit stew, fresh bread, and a butterbeer or two, the old man asked him a peculiar question.

"What do you know of horcruxes, my friend?"

"Horcruxes? Can't say I've heard the term before." The old man's eyes seemed to dim before Merlin spoke again. "Maybe I know them by another name. What are they?"

"Objects of power imbued with a piece of a broken soul."

Merlin had sat back in his chair, tapping the wooden armrest with a frown as he thought. It had been many years since he had recalled more than his memories of Arthur and his friends in Camelot. Longer still when he tried to focus on a specific event or foe. Everything had paled in comparison to Mordred, Morgause, and Morgana. The early years were so insignificant compared to the more important battles near the end.

"Have you heard the story of Cornelius Sigan?" Merlin asked thoughtfully.

The old man frowned. "The name is vaguely familiar. But I must confess it has been many years since I have taken a History of Magic course."

Merlin nodded. "Indulge me," he said. "Sigan was a powerful sorcerer in the age of Camelot. Long before even Merlin's time. He was put to death, but vowed to return one day and seek revenge on the crown. Prior to his execution, he sealed his soul into an object, a jewel. Many years later, during the reign of Uther Pendragon, the jewel was stolen and his soul possessed the thief, and sought to posses Merlin himself."

"How did he seal his soul?"

Merlin shrugged. "I don't know. The books never say. But if the Serpent has done the same as Sigan, the how doesn't matter. What matters is how to destroy it before it's too late."

"And how would one go about doing so?"

Once again Merlin shrugged, and returned to his dinner. "A spell could return the soul to the object-"

"We seek to destroy seven. Six, now."

The number... the number was significant. Seven times he had felt the natural order of the world shatter. Seven objects, Horcruxes the old man called them, existed. "I see... Well, then I'm afraid you've come a very long way for nothing. You may look through my library here if you think there's anything that might help. But I'm not getting involved if I can help it."

When the old man had left the following evening, he had taken a volume detailing the works of Cornelius Sigan, and a parchment full of written notes. Merlin could not directly interfere in the wars of magic that raged in the world outside his refuge. But he could leave the tools sitting around for anyone who may like to have a look.

The war outside raged on. And in the final year of conflict he found himself involved at the outermost edges.

Wounded innocents running for their lives through the woods. Injured witches and wizards whom's only crime had been to be born of muggles of half-blood. He did what he could to heal them, to hide them in his refuge. But the casualties had become overwhelming for one man alone. Even if that man is the greatest sorcerer to ever live.

As he patched up one man, helping soothe a burn with an old familiar salve recipe, the man had sniffed it and frowned. "You've changed it. You've put... you've put rosemary in it. And Lavender."

"Well excuse me if I don't want to go around smelling like sheep's urine and sour goats milk."

"I don't like it."

"Well get used to it because it's all I have."

"It's not as potent-"

"Its plenty potent. I'll have you know I was trained by the best. A king's physician himself."

The man fell silent then, and let Merlin do his work.

Days later when the burn had been half-way to repaired, the man spoke up again. "It's a wonder you learned anything at all, babysitting a headstrong prince all the time instead of focusing on your studies."

Merlin's hands froze half-way through changing the bandages of the boy on the cot next to the man. It wasn't only the words spoken, or rather the subject of them, that had stilled his work. It was the language. Old. Lost. Nearly forgotten. The pronunciation wasn't perfect, especially with that American accent the man had. But the sounds. The sounds were inescapable.

"A linguist?" Merlin said in modern English.

The man shook his head. "No. Just a foolish man finding himself in a strange predicament," he replied in kind. "When I'm well enough, I'll help you tend the others. And when there's time, we can talk."

In the weeks and months that followed, together they worked to save as many as they could. It was never easy for Merlin watching the light in young eyes die. If he had learned a name for them, he would write it down. To send word to their loved ones if he could to tell them of the passing. For those who had no one to claim them, or he could learn no name to know them, he would take them into the forest. And he would give them the only final rites he knew from his own youth.

And after he would return to the castle, eyes red rimmed, head hurting a little more, and smelling of fire and herb-scented smoke.

"Why don't you interfere?" his new-old friend had asked him one evening as Merlin prepared yet another young soul for Avalon. "One word is all it would take, and you could end this war."

"You know I can't do that. I've shown you the last druid's prophesy. If I get involved then there will be no future for the Once and Future King. Mine and Arthur's fates are tied to the outcome of this war. Whatever outcome that may be. My hands are tied."

His friend pushed him only once more after when Snatchers had come far too close to the refuge for comfort. The resulting fall out had caused a week long downpour and thunderstorm roiling through the area. What many took for his inaction had truly been his self-restraint. They worked together, after that, to help heal those they found in the forest, or those who followed magic's pull to bring them before Merlin's door.

The night of the final battle found Merlin sitting at the divide between the living world and the shores of Avalon. Magic Incarnate sat hunched in upon himself, feeling the turmoil as the last shreds of Old Magic, the stones and statues and walls of Hogwarts Castle, began to crumble. With golden rimmed eyes he roared a mournful wail into the night as he felt the natural balance of the world break - shatter - reassemble - break once more. He felt it, beneath his skin, the itch to act. The desire to run and fight and strike. To eliminate the wrongness, the cancer that had uncovered the severed threads of Morgana's ways. That same fire that had burned inside him at Camlaan. The same determination that drove him forward as he took his final journey with his King. It took everything in him to ignore his instincts, to stay his hand and remain at the shores of Avalon, forbidden to interfere in the war that raged to the north yet threatened to rip his very essence - magic as old as the earth and sea and sky - in two.

He screamed, begging for the Sidhe to release the king at last. This was the time. This was the moment. It must be. It had to be. He beat his chest in agony and called lightning down from above in sorrow as Arthur's name erupted from his lips in broken sobs.

It was Aithusa that had found him screaming into the dark that night. She curled her damaged body around her Dragonlord in an attempt to comfort him; to protect him.

When he came to days later, it was to a world torn by grief but thrumming with celebration and excitement.

The Serpent was truly dead.

Harry Potter had won.

And Wizarding Britain could now rebuild and prosper for the first time in a very long time. Not since the time of Grindlewald.

There was peace at last.

And over time, Merlin found himself spending less and less time by the lake only he could see. As men, women, and children began to trickle out of Summerland Court to return to their lives in the wizarding world again, Merlin locked himself away.

His dear friend, the kindly old man Gaius reborn, stayed on. He had nowhere else to go, really. Magic had pulled him across an ocean to reach the ancient sorcerer. He was not about to leave his side now.

Once the old fortress had been emptied, with nary a soul but the wizard, the warlock, and a dragon there came by owl post an unusual request.

Help to rebuild wizarding Britain. With Hogwarts in ruins and slow to repair many children were displaced for much of the upcoming year.

Summerland Court, though no longer an active institution, it seemed was still listed with the ministry as a regional school. Even if it hadn't had students for around a hundred some odd years.

"It's addressed to a Mr. Morgan Evrett, caretaker of Summerland Court," his mortal companion had said when Merlin had finally let the man into his private study.

"It was the first name I could think of when that other dottering old fool came asking for my help." Merlin idly played with the flames of the candles on his table, making them rise up and take shapes of dragons in flight. Of knights and questing beasts and other fantastical creatures that had gone extinct. "I couldn't very well tell people I'm Merlin. Or Emrys. Or whatever."

Gaius, or rather, Guy as he was named in this new life, sighed and frowned. His eyebrows furrowed. "Well what are we going to tell them? They're asking permission to use the grounds as a temporary school until Hogwarts is repaired."

"Tell them no."

"Merlin..."

"I'm no good at teaching. The only thing I can even teach is a dead religion and history. Maybe a dead language or two. And why if Arthur comes back while we've got children running around the grounds?! How am I going to explain that one?"

"I'll teach then. Perhaps we can ask the Ministry if they would send teachers and we only provide room and board. And you can hide away in your chambers as you've been doing for the last few hundred years."

Merlin ceased playing with the flames and rose abruptly from his table with a frown. "My decision is final," He summoned his satchel and cloak to him. "I'm going out."

"What? Now? At this hour?"

"I find myself in need of solitude," he ground out, donning his cloak and pinning it in place with one of the pendants that had graced the capes of Arthur's round table knights. A piece of home - a piece of sentimentality. His satchel was concealed beneath his cloak as he left his study through another door.

"Merlin!" the exasperated potion master had called after him as the door slammed shut.

The petulant warlock had taken Aithusa and had intended to ride upon her back to the Crystal Caves. However the dragon had other plans, taking him further afield despite his commands for her to obey. She took him to the scene of the final battle. Swooping low to show him the destruction. The damage to the earth and the forest. And outward still to the graves only a few months old. To see it with his own eyes, it made him weep.

He stayed in the forest with the Centaurs who, at first, were suspicious of his presence. It was not until he spoke to them in their own tongue, and showed them rather than told him who he truly was, that they accepted him into their territory. He was taken to the clearing where, at one point in the battle, Harry had gone to face down his own death.

He felt the sorrow of the earth as he followed magic's pull to retrace the boy's steps. Feeling with his hidden senses for something - what he did not know - until he found it. Crouching in the mud, he wove his spell to reveal what it was that had drawn him to this clearing. And there, pulled to the surface of the mud, was a stone.

"A Sidhe stone..." he whispered, examining the crest that had been carved into it. The stone felt familiar to this touch, but it felt wrong at the same moment. Broken. As if whatever spell or magic had been woven into it had been left incomplete somehow. He wrapped it in cloth and tucked it into his satchel. He would take it home and research it. Examine it. Then lock it away with the rest of his collection of dangerous Old Magic relics.

After days of wandering the forest, spending time with the centaurs, and surveying the damage done to the nearby castle, Merlin relented.

Upon his return to Summerland Court Merlin was met by Guy and a very severe looking older woman.

"Ah, Mr. Evrett! How was your trip?"

Merlin had glared at him with a frown, then sighed. "We'll need a list so we know how many to expect. And I'll need to hired on some extra help for the kitchens and laundry."

"We have many house elves that were also displaced due to the battle-"

"No house elves. There have never been house elves employed here, and there never will be. Their type of magic may actually be put to better use in the effort to rebuild the school. While not the same as the old magic that built it, it is comparable and would work well with the foundations already there."

In the end he left further discussions between Guy and their visitor, who stayed a few days before returning to her lodgings in Scotland.

Three weeks before September the woman returned, accompanied by a ministry official to iron out details. Merlin stayed out of proceedings save for insisting that they hire on staff for the kitchens and housekeeping rather than using house elves. He was quite firm on that point.

Two weeks before September saw the hiring of cooks and housekeepers. Merlin was very particular about who worked in the castle. Men and women, some of them barely adults themselves, who lost everything due to the magical war. In a way, it helped him manage his guilt for having not stepped in. For having not thrown away the last thousand odd years of waiting for Arthur's possible return so that he could have ended such bloodshed sooner. He ensured they were paid more than generously, and those who had no place to keep their money, he insisted upon setting up Gringotts accounts and vaults for them. For muggleborn or half-blood, if they chose the muggle forms of payments, he had no qualms or concerns and deferred to their preference.

This week also saw the arrival of teachers. Some displaced from Hogwarts, others seeking only to fill a need. There were not many, as there would be only a fraction of students housed in the castle. Those who's final year had been spent under the shadow of the Serpent and the year after them.

One week before September saw Guy and the severe older witch Minerva in many meetings. He sat in, sometimes, and kept to himself. He listened as the teachers discussed the curriculum and argued over whether or not to teach certain aspects of certain subjects. Chief among them...

"I think, in light of the past few years, that knowledge of the dark arts be kept in the realm of the academic only. These students have proven proficient understanding of the practical-"

Merlin scoffed from his seat by the window, where he sat mending a pair of jeans by hand.

"-uses of counter-magic," the teacher continued as if Merlin hadn't made a sound.

"How do you expect to teach magic without actually teaching magic?" Merlin said from his stool. He never looked up from his mending. It was soothing, falling back into some of his old habits of his servant days. Letting his hands to the work from muscle memory while his mind settled and found a sense of peace in the nostalgia. Even if memories of mending Arthur's shirts weren't entirely pleasant. "Magic is a tool, and you can't teach someone to properly use a tool without allowing them to wield it." He finished the pair of jeans he had been working on and picked up another, inspecting them before finding the hole and beginning the repairs, just as Gwen had taught him so many centuries ago. "Even Merlin had to practice before he became a master of magic. And he had to do it under the watchful eye of Uther Pendragon. If he had kept to theory and books alone without practice then we wouldn't be having this discussion in the first place because magic would no longer exist."

He was quiet after that, listening to the hushed tones and sewing his old jeans smugly. Sometimes, just sometimes, he did enjoy throwing his name around. Even if no one knew his words came from experience rather than expert study.

Later Guy would find him in his private chambers for a quiet supper, and they would laugh over the professor's reactions to hearing "Mr. Evrett" so casually point out the inadequacies of the greatest and most revered magician of all time.

In the days that passed between then and the first of September Merlin busied himself with ensuring certain parts of the castle were sealed tightly against unwanted intrusion. Of the three towers, one had been made off limits. It was the one with the best view of the Tor and the mists that shrouded the veil between the mortal world and Avalon. The corridor leading to the tower had also become restricted, housing his private chambers and work rooms. It had included a small garden with private access to the main grounds.

Arrangements had been made to temporarily connect the castle to the Floo for the arrival of students. Merlin had sat with Guy and Minerva, watching the arrivals with great amusement. He would have loved to have had the form of transportation available in his youth - even if only within the castle grounds. It certainly would have made filling Arthur's bath easier, being able to avoid all those god forsaken stairs.

He smiled to himself as the castle began to slowly fill with the chatter of excited voices again. "I know I was against this, Gaius," he whispered to his former mentor. "But it does this place good to have students again. I know it's only temporary, but I didn't realize how much I missed this."

"You've been hiding away too long, my boy. This will do you good as well. I watched what you were like with the others. You started to come alive again. I haven't seen you like that since... well, since you first came to Camelot."

Merlin merely nodded. It was still so strange, talking with the man who looked so much younger than the one he had known. Younger, physically, by at least 20 years than he had been when they had met in the man's previous life. The memories of their time together were spotty for the man still. And Merlin doubted he would ever recall all of them and still reconcile his current life with his old. One moment they could be waxing poetic together about the forests of Albion and the light as it shone in the King's throne room. The next Guy would be complaining about the poor radio reception and the lack of technological advancement in Wizarding Britain compared to his former home in the magic district of Sacramento.

He thought to ask him what circumstances led him to end up in Somerset of all places, but the idea was quickly pushed aside when he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up and goosebumps raise on his arms. The scent of ozone after a lightning strike assailed his senses. Immediately blue eyes searched the parlor. It was power similar in a manner to his own that he felt now. Old Magic. Magic the like he hadn't felt since his fight against Nimueh.

He recognized him when he laid eyes on him. The young man stumbling out of the floo, coughing and covered in soot. Soon after another stepped out behind him, covered in freckles and hair the color of fire.

"The hero himself," Gaius said from beside him. "Harry Potter. The gangly one there is Ronald Weasley. I recognized him from the papers. Together with their muggleborn friend, they are the youngest to ever be awarded the Order of Merlin."

At this the man himself scoffed. "Order of Merlin. Honestly, I should sue over that," he hissed low enough for only his companion to hear. "Still might," he added with a cheeky grin. "I'll go check to make sure the kitchens are getting along alright. Maybe lend a hand or two for old time's sake."

Merlin had stayed out of the way for months, watching the students at a distance and occasionally upsetting the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's lessons from time to time as he happened to pass by the classroom. Or the group if their lessons had reason to take them outside. He couldn't help it, honestly. The teacher reminded him far too much of that bootlicker George, the most detested and obsessively devoted of all Camelot's servants.

His contact with the students in his castle was limited to his role as caretaker of the place, and they as guests in his home. It remained this way until he went out one night, donning his cloak and a satchel full of wine, bread, and cheese, to do as he did that same night every year. Except for a stint in the 1800s when he had been running for his life trying not to be burnt at the stake. He passed through his private garden and out onto the castle grounds proper. Following the winding path and allowing his magic to steer him. To pull him to the hidden shore that only he and his dragons could see.

He came to a stop at a boulder, worn down to a stone seat after many long years of use.

As Merlin sat staring out at the still waters, as he did every year on this date, he heard a rustling nearby. Silently he closed his eyes and sent out a small burst of magic, letting it pulse gently around him in waves so that he may sense the intent of the individual who had encroached upon his place, if not their identity.

Just as he sensed no danger, he heard a gasp before it was quickly stifled.

"It's beautiful," he heard a voice murmur but saw no one present with him. So, a cloak of invisibility.

"It really is, isn't it?" he called over to his hidden company. "The mists of the Tor are a lovely sight in the moonlight."

"The lake, too," came the voice again.

Suppressing the urge to gasp, Merlin tore off a piece of bread and offered it in the direction of his visitor. "You don't have to hide from me, boy. I'm not one of your teachers. Can't stand them much myself if I'm being honest." He smirked. "Except for Professor Wilson. Herbology and Potions. He's okay." When Harry hadn't moved to take the bread, Merlin shook it impatiently at him. "Come on. Just take it. It won't bite. Made fresh today even."

Eventually a hand snaked out from beneath the cloak, snatching the bread and disappearing again.

"I've got more, if you're still hungry. Cheese, too." He was treated to a quiet thanks in return.

Normally on this night, Merlin sits and talks. And talks. And insults the man in the lake. And sometimes sobs when the loneliness is too much. Tonight, though, he does much of this in solitude of his own thoughts.

After moments or hours, he isn't sure, he hears the shuffle of feet as they retreat from the shore. "Potter," he calls out, and the footsteps stop. "You're welcome to come sit by the lake any night. If you attempt it during the day, your friends will think you've gone mad." He chuckled. "It will look like you're just sitting out in an empty field."

"Why?"

Merlin shrugged. "Only you and I can see it."

"What's on the other side?"

Briefly he contemplated telling him, but thought better of it. "Perhaps another time," he said instead.

When he was certain that Harry had left him on the shore, returning to the castle proper, Merlin fished out his bottle of wine and took a hearty swallow. "Well Arthur... I should probably apologize for uh... the last time I came by. I... well... didn't mean to electrocute the water. Freya didn't much appreciate that. The school is open again. I'm not teaching this time though." He lapsed into silence, taking another pull from the bottle. "Oh, and I forgot to mention, Gaius is back. Sort of. He was reincarnated. Didn't think that was ever going to be a thing. He's the only one though... Maybe. There's this other guy, this teacher I'm not too thrilled with. Reminds me a lot of George..."

He sat out there snacking and drinking until just before dawn, when he could be found staggering into Guy's office, feeling maudlin and a wee bit drunk. Guy, for his part, was thankful the anniversary of King Arthur's death fell on a weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

 

There were few repeats of that night on the shore. But as he spent long hours locked in his tower, researching and studying the stone he had discovered in the forest near the battle-torn Hogwarts, he would often look out into the dead of night towards the Tor. Towards Avalon. And in the mists he would see a shimmer of unreality as fabric fluttered in the breeze.

As Autumn rolled into the biting cold of an English Winter, the fireplaces of Summerland Court were alight day and night. Merlin found himself often seeking out the company of the staff, rolling up his sleeves to help with the laundry. Or to peel vegetables for the soups and stews. It was a week before Yule when Guy and Minerva had approached him, an apron on over his muggle clothes and a large knife in hand as he had helped cover for one of the cooks who's wife had gone into labor the night before.

He listened as the two of them discussed ideas to bring a bit of cheer to the castle for more than just Christmas. Many of the students had lost loved ones in the war, and many had nowhere to go for the holiday break.

"What do you think?" Guy had asked him as Merlin unceremoniously dropped the chopped carrots into a large stew pot. "Perhaps a ball or a feast to commemorate the occasion."

"No ball. I've had enough Yule Balls to last a lifetime," Merlin said as he grabbed another bundle of carrots. "And a feast a few days before Christmas is a waste of time and energy."

"We must certainly do something to mark the season," Minerva said, watching the castle's caretaker do his cutting the muggle way. The pieces were uneven, but he was methodical with his actions. His movements fluid and sure. "Is there no traditions that were kept when this school had been open before?"

Merlin shrugged. "I can check the records if you want. Personally, my family never did much of anything. Throw up a muggle tree, have some eggnog, maybe sing a few carols and then go to bed." The lie rolled easily off his tongue, far too easily. He watched from the corner of his eye as the old woman's face fell, and Guy raised an eyebrow at him. Then, he sighed. "Oh alright. Historically the druids who called this area home would have a raging bonfire, and would burn the traditional Yule log, celebrating the longest night of the year and the rebirth of the sun. Different groups had different rituals and traditions. The grove that made their camp here before the castle was built would gather and feast and trade stories into the night. One of the stories commonly told was the battle between the Holly King and the Oak King." Once again, he dropped handfuls of carrots into the pot and turned to grab the last bundle to begin again. "To signify the shortening of the night and lengthening of the days. I suppose we could throw some symbolic logs on the fire, have some warm cider, and have a night of music and stories. Students can show off some of what they've learned in class. Petty charms and enchantments and the like."

He shrugged as he worked, listening to the pair of them now alight with new ideas. Somehow he was roped into helping to decorate and organize the festivities. Part of him wanted to complain. But deep down, he could feel the stone-like walls he had built up over the centuries start to weaken. And a gentle smile crept upon his face as he let the thoughts and feelings flourish, remembering the last Yule he had spent in Camelot before Gwen's death.

Magic had been free and admired rather than bound and feared. In honor of Gwen's thirty-fifth year on the throne following Arthur's death, he had put on a brilliant display of twinkling lights and fireworks. He had used his magic to weave tapestries of light in the square for all the peoples of Camelot to see. One of the stories he had told with his magic had been that of the Mabon, the Sun Child. It had always been one of his favorite stories told in Ealdor when he was a child.

He'd remained apart from his castle guests for the greater part of the year. But during the celebrations he had found himself in higher spirits. Making merry and showing off a few parlor tricks he had learned over the years. Watching the students, listening to the music and tales going on around the ballroom where they had staged the celebrations, Merlin realized how much he had missed it. Missed being surrounded by people. Missed laughing and joking and having a bit of fun.

As the night drew to a close, and he turned towards his restricted part of the castle, he felt warmer. Lighter. Then again it might have been his head dizzy with the firewhisky he'd snuck in with his flask.

The joy and the merriment was sadly not to last. The turn of the year brought with it a host of new problems. Certain members of the student body, the repeating seventh years, began to have terrible nightmares. Guy had quickly run through his store of ingredients, and sought to pick from Merlin's private garden.

"How bad is it?" Merlin had asked him while helping gather what his old mentor needed. "I may have something in my stores-"

"I haven't seen nightmares like this in a very long time. Not in this lifetime."

"Gaius..."

"I'm afraid even with all the magic I could hope for at my command, I still cannot quell this damnable curse. Voldemort's marks have not faded with time as they were expected to do. And the nightmares that they bring are becoming worse."

At the mention of the marks, the curse that they wrought upon the bearer, Merlin's blood ran cold and his newfound peace had shattered. Guy watched as the eccentric, oft sarcastic caretaker of the castle hardened into the weary and ancient warlock that had once been his apprentice in a former life. His voice was cold, but full of purpose. "Show me."

His strides through the castle were long and quick, and Guy had to all but run to keep up with him. Merlin was thankful, for once, at the rise of New Magic and the near loss of the Old Religion. For if any in the castle were of his own ilk, they surely would feel the anger of Merlin, nay, Emrys as he passed their doors.

They had arrived soon to Guy's office, where the man's research lay open still. Cauldrons bubbled and various sleeping draughts had been prepared. Quickly Merlin sorted through them, surveying the recipes until he found one he recognized. "This one hasn't been effective, has it?" he asked, offering the vial to the other man.

"No. I've even tried combining it with Dreamless Sleep, to no avail."

"How many students, and how often have you been treating them for these nightmares?"

"Nine total, all pureblood witches and wizards if that counts for anything. The severity and frequency of treatment varies. Half of them have only just begun to reject my current stock of brews."

"And the others?"

"Suffer as Morgana suffered. I have done all that I can. I've written to St. Mungos, and sent word to my colleagues in America but no one has any answers."

Merlin ran a hand through his hair as he paced the floor. "I know your memories are incomplete, my old friend, but do you remember the times after Arthur... After Gwen took the throne?"

Guy thought for a long moment, then frowned. "Not much. I recall there were uprisings in Cenred's kingdom not long after Gwen lifted the ban on magic. And the disappearance of Avalon. But as to specifics? No. Not clearly."

"The marks, Gaius," he said, using the man's former name out of habit. "The marks Voldemort chose for binding his followers to him were made of the Old Religion. No modern wizards, barring a few notable apprentices of mine, is able to utilize magic that ancient and raw. The fool used Morgana's mark. The brand she burned into all of her acolytes."

"What?"

"Usually it was hidden on the leg for most men. The lower back for women. It bound their souls to her. After Arthur's death I sought them out. I gave them the chance to turn away from her after her death. But many did not take my offer. If there are enough people who still carry that mark, then it may call her back through the veil."

"No... No. That's impossible."

"And I thought I was the only one who can see the lake outside. Something is happening here and it makes me itch to look into the Crystal."

"No. You know what happens when you look into it. No good has ever come of seeing into the future."

Guy watched him pace a while longer before he finally let out a long, frustrated growl. "I'll consult with Freya and Aithusa. See if the three of us can come up with something to help block the nightmares. That had always been her primary channel of manifestation." He looked around the laboratory with sadness in his eyes. "The next time one of the marked ones come to your for help, I want to be notified immediately. I need to examine the mark myself. Feel the magic and see if there is a way I can sever the source, even if it only buys more time."

"Merlin," Guy asked as the ancient warlock made to leave. "The ones who took your offer, how did you... how did you sever the tie to Morgana's soul?"

"If I could not sever the infected limb," he said evenly. "I made sure it was painless and quick. I want to avoid that option at all costs."

"Understood."

It was naught but two days before Guy had summoned Merlin back. The girl had been very hesitant to share anything of her nightmares with Merlin in the room. However when he spoke to her, as if a parent to a scared child, he asked her if she had seen a pale woman cloaked in green, as if covered in scales, in her nightmares. When the girl had nodded, he asked to see the mark on her arm that pained her. She would not without one of the female teachers present. Minerva, the highest authority in regards to the students welfare, had been summoned to join them.

Guy had explained the situation quietly as Merlin consulted the notes on the girl's nightmares for the past few weeks. Her nightmares seemed to match nearly perfectly with many of the others, though all of them were disjointed, there was much overlap.

"Mr. Evrett," Guy called to his old friend. "There is a delicate matter to discuss that, unfortunately, must be settled before you will be allowed to help me."

Merlin closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath before joining them in the corner. He could feel the silencing charms being put into place around them, and bristled under the conflicting natures of New Magic and Old. But he bore it.

"It is now safe to speak freely, Morgan," Guy said as he laid a hand on his forearm. "She is responsible for these children. She must know what we know."

Merlin got the feeling that Guy didn't simply mean the marks and the nightmares. "I demand first that we perform what your people call an Unbreakable Vow. This secret goes no further without my express permission." He stared Minerva in the eye, but the old woman didn't even flinch. Instead, she offered her hand, and he slid his into hers. Guy raised his wand. "Do you swear not to reveal what I am about to tell you, specifically about my personal matters, upon pain of death?"

Before Guy could object, Minerva jumped right in. "I swear. Should I break this vow, my life will be forfeit. In return, I demand that you do everything within your power to protect these children should I be unable to do so."

He gave a nod of acceptance. "I swear." With a few murmured words, the deed was done, and they let their hands fall back to their sides. He refused to break eye contact, however. "My name is Merlin. Yes, THE Merlin. And I need to examine the mark on that girl so that I may attempt to stop what it is doing to her and eight other children in this castle."

By the time they had worked out the particulars, Minerva had started to speak to the girl quietly, and discretely. After a few moments, she waved Merlin over to them. "Now, Miss Bullstrode, Mr. Evrett is going to examine the mark you were given last year. I will be present to ensure he does nothing improper, and only attends to his task, alright?"

The girl nodded, unwilling to meet either of their eyes. She pulled her school robes off, then turned her back to them to lift her shirt just enough to expose her lower back. Merlin sucked air in through his teeth as he attempted to suppress a gasp. "It moved," she said. "In the night." Tears pricked her eyes. "I don't- I don't understand."

Merlin summoned a stool to himself without looking, taking a seat upon it behind the girl. "Will it be alright for me to touch it? I will do nothing more than place my finger onto the mark, so that I can feel the type of magic in it."

The girl looked to Minerva, fearful. Afraid. The old woman put a hand on the girl's shoulder with a quiet and severe nod. Then, the girl nodded in return.

He wasted no time, centering himself before stretching out a single finger. It was easier to do so with his full hand, palm flush against the mark as a whole. But propriety was the most important factor right now. As he touched his finger to the black patch of skin, the serpent and skull that had been Morgana's chosen crest, he shuddered. The magic was a blending. Two types at odds with one another. He could sense the thrum of the Old Religion. Dark, twisted ritual of torture and pain. And alongside it, woven into the spell was another, newer adage.

"Communication. A summoning charm. Severed bond to a..." He pulled his hand away as if burnt, nearly falling back off his stool as he felt the golden fire in his eyes burn with anger. He clenched his fists tightly as he turned away. "That is enough. I apologize for intruding on your modesty, miss."

"Mr. Evrett?" Minerva ventured.

"I need time to- to process. Research," Merlin said, starting for the door. "And contact your hospital in London. We specifically need a witch. I don't care how much it costs, I will pay whatever expenses arise. We need a witch who is well versed in matters of the mind as well as the body."

Guy stopped him at the door, but all Merlin would tell him was that the girl was lucky to be alive.

Before the week was out, all five of the girls in the group of 9 had been seen by the witch and Merlin together. And each private meeting made the ancient warlock more and more disgusted. He spent many a night down at the shore of Avalon. Sometimes to collect the waters Freya would allow only him to take, for with a few drops of it he could create potions potent enough to chase away the nightmares for longer periods, buying them more time to figure out how to remove the marks.

On one such night, when the moon was full, Merlin found he was not alone at the shore. For the first time during these rare visits together, Harry Potter had removed his invisibility cloak and set it aside with a small bag. "I brought some food," he said. "You seem to like cheese and bread. Sorry no wine though. Hope pumpkin juice is alright."

"It's fine," he said, accepting a dinner roll. "They're simple foods, really. Lightweight and easy to carry. Staples to get by in lean times."

"I'll keep that in mind," Harry said, joining him on his boulder.

They sat in silence for a while. Quietly eating and enjoying one another's company as each pursued their own thoughts and contemplation. After a while, it was Harry that spoke first.

"I tried to tell my friend Hermione about this. She's been in the library at all hours trying to find everything she can."

"Oh? And what's she found so far?"

Harry shrugged. "A bunch of myths and stories but there's nothing to back it all up. Just a lot of stuff that doesn't make sense. It doesn't help that she can't see it."

"Why do you think that is? What sets you apart from your friends?"

Harry shrugged. "I died a little."

"What?"

"Yeah. I died a little. Maybe that's why I can see this... this weird lake."

"Maybe. Or maybe it has to do with that prophecy about you."

"You know about that? But Dumbledore said-"

"Albus said a lot of things. Many of them incredibly useless and self serving. He reminded me of a very old friend who was equally as frustrating to get answers out of," he replied, his tone darkening just a little. Silence fell between them again, less companionable than it had been. Harry and Merlin passed the thermos of pumpkin juice back and forth between them. The old sorcerer could tell there was more the boy had to say. But couldn't quite bring himself to ask.

"What brings you down to the lake tonight?"

"Same as always. Can't sleep."

"Yeah..."

"Nightmares."

"After everything you've been through I would be concerned if you didn't have them." He watched Harry from the corner of his eye. "The hard part is what to do with yourself after," he said, standing and cracking his back. He may look young, well, he'd let himself age into his late twenties or early thirties this time around. But still, he felt older than he looked. Felt older than he was.

"What?" Harry asked as he watched him pick up a rock, inspect it, then skip it across the water.

"Prophecies. They're made. You're born. You live your life and then unknowingly stumble into your destiny." He picked up another rock, and gave it a bit of a spin, watching it skip a little further. "You work hard. Do everything you can to make it happen, or prevent some great disaster. And when it's over and the dust settles... That's it. Your job is done. Afterwards... the world keeps moving but you don't. You have no purpose. No one thinks about what comes after."

Harry listened to him a while before joining him in his rock throwing.

"You asked me once what's on the other side of th-" Merlin started, but was interrupted by a roar coming from the direction of his castle. A sense of sudden danger made his heart rate skyrocket as he felt the shock-wave of power. Old, ancient magic stirring to life in the dark.

"No!" he exclaimed, turning back towards the castle. Harry had grabbed up his cloak. The remains of their lakeside snack forgotten just as the words Merlin had been about to impart. The two men ran across the grounds. The top of one of the towers had smoke billowing out of it.

Aithusa circled above it, then suddenly swooped low, catching a girl on her back and bringing her down to the ground just as Merlin and Harry had reached the main doors. Without thinking, Merlin spoke to the white dragon in the long forgotten tongue of the land before going inside.

Students and staff were running, screaming. Some had come out, shielding others.

"Thank the gods you're here!" Guy exclaimed when he caught sight of them. "The Parkinson girl. Her mark... It... We've failed. She's coming. She's here."

"Who's here? Mr. Evrett- Morgan, what's going on?" Harry demanded, reminding Merlin of his presence.

He turned to the boy, no, man and made a snap decision. "The restricted corridor. I know you and your friends have been trying to get in. Go there now. Take as many as you can and go to the tower. Do not go up, go down and barricade yourselves in. It is the safest place in the castle. This is beyond even your ability, Harry."

More screams. He could hear Aithusa outside.

"Gaius, some are trying to escape the girl's dorm through the windows."

"What?!"

"Aithusa is catching any who jump, but I need someone to lead them away from the danger. Go through my garden and make your way to the tower. If you can't get into the basement, then get as low and far as you can. I will hold her off."

The sound of the ancient voice was a hiss, snake-like and slithering through the air after the doors leading to the girl's dormitory tower exploded into splinters of old wood. "Emrysssss..."

He raised his hand, creating a magical barrier to shield their escape. "Go! Now!"

Stepping through the passage, blood coated feet stepping amongst the pieces of wood carefully. Long black hair matted and wild, bits of flesh still clinging to her skin. "Emrysssss.... There is no magic sword to save you now..." she said as she drops a bundle of bloodied skin to the floor. Merlin's stomach churns as his meager midnight supper threatens to make a sudden appearance.

He hears a shriek behind him, cursing the stupid wizards at his back for not listening to him.

Her irises ringed in a sickly yellow-green, not yet burning with the intensity she once commanded. Merlin swallowed, but could not steal a glance back. Not everyone had gotten away in time.

"Evrett, they're blocking the way!"

"Stupefy!"

"Expelliarmus!"

Colorful spells flew about behind him as she pressed against his barrier. A battle on two fronts. He could with ease bring the castle down upon her, his ancient foe reborn, but to do so would risk the lives in his care. The entrance crashes in upon itself as Aithusa breathes a wall of flame between her lord and former mistress.

Merlin takes the opportunity to turn tail and run, sending his magic out as a pulse to break through the barrier of students that had pulled their wands upon their own. Cold eyes. Dead eyes. The eyes of Morgana's acolytes.

Once the way was free, they pushed onwards. Aithusa screamed, and he could hear the stones of the castle crumbling in the entrance hall as the dragon retreated and the High Priestess advanced. Calling to him. Taunting him as she went.

He barricaded the corridor using the strongest magic he could conjure. "Into the tower! Move! Move!"

As he backed them towards the tower, he looked around the corridor. His private space for centuries was not one to be left unprotected. The strongest wards were in this area. The strongest protections both ancient and modern in place. Twelve sets of armor came to life as his eyes glowed gold and ancient incantations rolled off his tongue. From the entrance to the tower Guy's eyes widened and his eyebrows rose so impossibly far up his head they should have become one with his hairline.

"Are those?!" he shouted as the metal soldiers took positions. As a wrought-iron barrier came down between him and the suits.

"Fight! Fight and hold the hall!" Merlin cried, and as one the suits of armor beat their weapons upon their shields. "For Albion!" he cried, and they did this once more, turning and taking a battle formation. He ushered the remaining onwards towards Guy and the tower as the barricade fell.

"Emrysssss!"

He turned, placing himself between the obstacles he had made and the tower. She was weak, he knew. Weaker than she had been before he killed her. But that did not mean she was any less of a threat. He just has to tire her out.

Merlin readied himself for when she would burst through his animated armors, finding himself still not alone.

From the corner of his eye he watched as a far too familiar wand was raised in anticipation for a fight. He stole a glance to either side of himself. "Your magic is useless against her."

"Yeah," one of the boys said, a burn scar on the side of his face. "But we reckon we could use it on her friends while you take on the crazy lady."

The armors were blown aside, the spells that animated them now ended. All that stood between them and his greatest foe was the wrought iron barrier. The spells that were cast towards them broke like waves against a wall. "What is this?!" she demanded from the other side in a rage, throwing the weight of her magic behind every attack.

Merlin smirked. "Every last piece of binding iron in Albion was brought here and melted down. You didn't think I'd just let it all sit around and collect dust, did you?"

"Clever... Have you made yourself a poisoned cage?"

"Break in and find out, Morgana. If you can."

"I don't need to," she replied, a cruel smile playing on her blood smeared face.

Beside him Harry and the red headed man turned, wands raised as the door to the tower burst open. "Malfoy!" the red headed man shouted, his voice filling the single word with venom and hate.

Harry took a step forward. "Draco, lower your wand!"

"I- I can't. My arm- I can't control-"

"Kill them!"

"Get down!" Draco shouted just before Merlin felt a weight hit him squarely between his shoulder blades with an explosion of bright green light. The world suddenly was going dark. Sound began to run together. He thought he heard someone screaming. With his last ounce of strength he pulled a rock from the lake shore from his pocket, whispering an incantation and throwing it through a gap in the barrier towards her.

He lost consciousness, dying for the first time in over a century.


	3. Chapter 3

 

It had always been a strange sensation to Merlin.

Coming back from the dead.

It always depended on the method of death, in the end.

When he died of old age, his body burned as if with fever after returning itself to the state it was in the day that Arthur had died.

He was stabbed once, and that had been horrible. The wound had festered before he'd woken, and having been left in a field to rot had caused carrion to come and attempt to feast. The blade, he learned later, had been poisoned with serkit venom.

When guns had been invented was also a very aggravating time. May of the bullets had been made of iron. Much of them he had saved and melted down into anti-magical weaponry for the defenses of various homes he had lived in.

Merlin may have been the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the Earth, but that didn't mean he was stupid. If he could stop his attackers before they could even reach him, it meant he need not waste his magic nor his effort. So long as he never touched the things with his bare skin, being near such objects and defenses didn't much bother him. He had learned that very well in his early days as Arthur's manservant. All those times in Camelot's dungeon for one reason or another.

Yet, while for Merlin the occasional bit of dying was an inconvenience that came with his immortal title and duty, it didn't make it any less shocking for anyone who witnessed his revival.

His groans were met with gasps of shock, horror, and surprise.

"That was unpleasant," he said. His voice a bit hoarse from disuse.

"U- u- unpleasant?!" Guy exclaimed in shock nearby.

Merlin opened his eyes to see he was laid out on the floor of the dining hall. And covered in a sheet. Said sheet was whipped from his face and he stared up at a very shocked, very tired reborn court physician. "How long was I out?"

"You died."

"Yeah. It happens."

"You were hit with the killing curse."

"Well... that explains the hangover. And I haven't even been to a tavern in years."

"Don't get cheeky with me, Merlin," he hissed.

"Alright, alright." Merlin pushed himself up to a sitting position, surveying the hall around him. "It's too many."

"Mostly staff," he said. "But... some children as well."

"Too young and too soon after last year."

Guy nodded his agreement. "There's aurors here. They'll want answers from you."

"No."

"Merlin, you were hit with the killing curse. Only one other man alive has survived it, twice. And Morgana's return was felt across the country. Not to mention you don't have the permit for owning a dragon."

"I'm a sodding Dragonlord!" he exclaimed in aggravation. "I don't NEED a permit! And you can't OWN a dragon!"

"The ministry will beg to differ."

Merlin knew small talk when he heard it. He got to his feet and looked around to see the shocked faces staring at him. "There's no way I can keep my identity secret and get out of this mess, is there?"

"I'm afraid not my boy. The sooner you face the music, the better."

With a sigh and a nod, Merlin stepped around the bodies laid out under other sheets. Stepping over and around the corpses of those he could not save never got easier. It was why he lived alone, and why he kept to himself. He ignored the ones who had watched him come back from the dead and left the dining hall. Outside was no better. Summerland Court was in shambles. Well... the least protected parts of it at any rate.

He passed through the corridor, ignoring the looks he was receiving. He passed from hall to hall and room to room, searching for certain types of people. He sought out the red robes of the Aurors. The law enforcement of the Ministry.

He found them, questioning a boy who was clearly in a lot of pain and missing an arm from the elbow down. He frowned at the stump, and started to approach when he was stopped by arms wrapping around him tightly.

"Mr. Evrett!" the owner of the arms exclaimed before jumping back and remembering her place. "Er... sorry. I- we-"

"You died mate."

"Only a little," he said, remembering a previous conversation with Harry by the lake.

"You took a killing curse to the back. We saw it."

"Yeah... that was a new one. Say, do I look younger to any of you?"

"No..."

"Good. I'd hate to have to grow up again." He indicated the boy with the stump, noticing he was bound in chains. "That the one that did it?"

"Malfoy-"

"Excuse me," he said, detaching himself from the conversation quickly and closing the distance between himself and the Aurors.

"Hello! Hi! So... I'm not dead. You can let the boy go now."

"Draco Malfoy is on parole-"

"He didn't do anything. As a matter of fact-"

"Mr... Evrett was it?"

"Merlin."

"What?"

"My name. It's Merlin. Not Morgan. Not Mr. Evrett. Just Merlin."

When they still didn't take him at his word, he sighed, reached up and touched their foreheads with his finger. Their eyes rolled into the back of their heads and he caught them with his magic, lowering them to the floor before turning to the boy with the stump. "Now then, lets get you out of those chains. They can't be pleasant."

An incantation, then another, and the chains fell to the floor. No one came near him as he took it upon himself to guide the boy away. "Let's get your arm looked at. We don't want infection to kill you."

"You're dead."

"I was. Now I'm not."

"I killed you."

"And now I'm alive." His eyes lit up when he saw Guy at the end of the hall. "Ah! Just the man! Gaius, come have a look at... Malfoy was it? Yes. Come take care of his arm. I've got some red robed messes to clean up."

Merlin had activated the floo network long enough to send the Aurors blearily through, with a note pinned to one of them before turning back to help with the bodies. Owls flew to and fro carrying correspondence. Before the night was over, even more had arrived at Summerland Court without invitation. Some family of the dead, others parents or siblings of the remaining. He made arrangements for many to stay in the less damaged parts of the castle before slipping away - back into his tower. He found Harry in one of the rooms facing the Tor, the unusual wand he recognized from before sitting on the window sill.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"What happened last night? She kept calling you some other name. And you called her Morgana. How is that possible?"

Merlin moved to stand beside him at the window and sighed. "It's hard to explain."

"I watched Draco kill you before slicing off his own arm."

"So that's how that happened..."

"How are you still alive?"

"Do you know what Emrys is?"

"Hermione says it was one of the names of Merlin."

"It is. But do you know what it means? What it means to be Emrys?" He waited, watching Harry from the corner of his eye. The young man had no answer. "It is a druid name meaning immortal. And Merlin never wanted that title. His mother was a muggle, you know. By today's standards his father would have been a half-blood at least."

"But history says Merlin died a gray old man."

"He did. Long after King Arthur fought and died at the Battle of Camlaan. He served Camelot and Queen Guinevere for many years as Court Sorcerer once the ban of magic had been repealed." Merlin sighed, letting his shoulders sag with the weight of his long life. "And then one day after he left Camelot when a new king came to power, he crawled into bed one night and died in his sleep. It was peaceful. The kind of death he had wished for so many of his lost friends. And then, around mid-day following I gasped for breath and found myself young again. Strong again. And that was when I learned the consequences of my actions. I cannot die."

"Neither can I."

"I'm pretty sure you can."

Harry shook his head, taking his wand and stepping away from the window. "I can't. I've tried."

"What?"

"After... After Voldemort. This last summer after the last battle I... The nightmares were too much. So many people died because of me. Protecting me. And Cedric... He shouldn't have even been in the graveyard that night. But I insisted." Harry began pacing as Merlin watched him, processing all that he heard. "I insisted that we win together. Both Hogwarts champions winning the Tri-Wizard cup. And it got him killed."

"Graveyard?"

Harry nodded, wiping at his face with his sleeve. "Yeah."

"I fell ill for a few days. Magic... old magic from my time was used that night. I could feel the natural order bending and breaking in ways it was never meant to. That was the night he returned, wasn't it?"

Again, Harry nodded.

"I'm sorry I could not help you. I could not interfere."

"If you could go back in time, would you interfere? Knowing what you know now?"

Merlin did not hesitate. "No. My immortality is my punishment for trying to cheat destiny. I tried to break a prophesy and caused the death of my best friend and King."

"Then why can't I die? I did everything right. I filled the prophesy. He killed me so that I could kill him. 'Neither can live while the other survives'. That's what it said." He opened his mouth to say more, but there came a knock on the old wooden door.

"Enter," Merlin said.

When the door opened, a pale face peered in at them from the shadows of the stairs.

"Draco!" Harry exclaimed. "You're supposed to be with Professor Wilson and the Medi-witch."

"I came to apologize."

"there's nothing to apologize for."

"Potter, I killed Merlin."

"Once again, not dead," Merlin interjected.

"I should be in Azkaban for what I've done."

Merlin sighed and moved to the table, pulling out a seat. "Come. Sit down. You look like you're going to fall over." He watched as the two exchanged a look before the pale boy nodded and came further into the room. His stump was wrapped in a fresh cloth. He could smell the medicinal herbs that likely were packed into the bandages. Whatever the boy had used to cut half his arm off must have been an object resistant to magic. The wound left behind likely had to heal the normal way. Once the young man had seated, Merlin gently pushed him forward before rounding the table and sitting across from him. Harry, he noted, did not sit but rather remained between their unexpected guest and the door.

"Are you going to be alright?"

"I don't know."

"You had her mark. The mark Voldemort stole for himself."

He wouldn't look Merlin in the eye. "Yes," he said. "But I wasn't willing."

Merlin's blood ran cold. He glanced at Harry, who remained impassive, then turned his attention back to the young man in front of him. "I forgive you for killing me. You didn't know who I was. And you weren't in control of yourself. I know what that is like."

At this the young man's cold, hurt-filled eyes turned to him at last. His gaze was piercing, searching.

"That woman did the same to me, but with another method. She had a snake in a box."

"A snake in a box?"

"Yeah. It was kind of her calling card. So this snake," he said. "She captured me once. She didn't know I was a sorcerer- a wizard. But she captured me and she had this snake in a box that could reproduce heads."

"Like a hydra," Harry offered, showing he was most definitely paying attention.

Merlin nodded. "Yeah. Sort of like that. She cut one of the heads off and put it in my neck, right here," he said reaching behind his neck. He could still feel the scar from when Gaius had removed it. "It put me under the spell of whoever put it into me. Under the spell, I would follow only that one order. I forgot to eat, sleep, even bathe."

"Why would she do that? And why you if she didn't know who you were?"

"At the time I was her brother's manservant. I was the closer to Arthur than anyone else. It made sense to enchant me to kill him, as I would have had the most opportunity. And depending on who you asked, motive."

"How did you get free?"

"The court physician tried to remove it, but it grew back. He made a poultice and it helped sedate the snake long enough for me to destroy its source with Excalibur. No normal sword could destroy creatures made of magic from the Old Religion." He shrugged. "Coincidentally, that's why the killing curse can't kill me either. It has to be a specific type of weapon with a specific enchantment that very few know of. I, and now Morgana, are the only ones alive who know it."

They remained in silence for a time before Harry excused himself to go check on his friends. He looked as if he wanted to say something but changed his mind at the last moment before leaving them.

Merlin stood glanced at Malfoy's stump again, wrapped in fresh cloth and partly concealed. "I can't possibly know what you endured when that mark was forced on you. I imagine it must have been difficult for them to break your will if you were able to fight against Morgana's call. If I were to ask Professor Wilson how many times you sought out treatment from him since the nightmares began, what do you think he will tell me?"

"That I only came to him for rare potion ingredients. Or snuck into your garden to find them fresh myself."

"You're handy with a cauldron then."

"Top marks in my classes. The former Hogwarts potion master was a prodigy, and he was also my godfather and mentor."

"Good. Potions never were my strong suit. Neither was healing spells. I can do them in a pinch but I'm more... raw energy. Instinct and force of nature type of magic. Guy will need an assistant."

"But I need two hands to chop, dice, pulverize-"

"And you will have two hands. It might take some time, but I'll find a way to make you a new hand."

"Why? I attacked you. All the other students here hate me. You saw what the Aurors are like. I should be in prison with my father for the things I've done."

Merlin considered his words for a long moment before giving a nod. "You didn't survive enslavement to a madman just to replace him with another, more cruel master. I want you to stay on as Professor Wilson's apprentice. I can keep you here under my protection."

"It won't work. The ministry-"

"Is nothing more than a gathering of uneducated fools with good intentions but a very poor record of positive results," Merlin replied firmly. He took a glance around the chamber once again and was about to say more when they were interrupted by another knock at the door. Merlin sighed. "Enter!" he called.

The door opened and Guy was waiting for him. "Morgan," he said.

"It's alright. I told the boy."

"Well, you'll be telling a lot more than him. We have company."

Merlin nodded, reaching up to rub the back of his neck with a sigh. "Alright. Would you stay here with him? I've just made him your apprentice-"

"Merlin-"

"No no. You need one and I need a good reason to keep him here so these damned Ministry fools don't haul him off to prison for something he had no control over."

Soon after, Merlin left them to deal with his unwanted visitors. As he passed down the tower, he stopped to speak with the professors that had survived the attack, and staff as well. He asked them to use whatever magic they could to at least clear up the rubble. If they knew how to repair walls, then please do so. More to keep out the weather than anything more stable. And that he would help when he was again free to do so.

When he had arrived at the bottom and passed back through his restricted corridor to the main hall, it was to find Aurors and various officials standing in the ruined entrance. Outside, he could hear Aithusa's occasional cry as she worked to heal her wounds. Merlin, in muggle clothes, stood and watched with great interest as they picked their way through the rubble.

After he felt he had watched long enough, Merlin came forward and made himself known to them. Wands were trained on him as the red robes came forward and the officials stepped back. He just stood with his hands behind his back. "Hello. I was expecting you a lot sooner. Your delay must mean there were other attacks like this one, weren't there?" When no one responded, he sighed and rolled his eyes. "There was a break-out at Azkaban, wasn't there? Death Eaters, correct?"

"How do you know this? Even the press doesn't know what really happened yet."

Merlin noticed the two aurors he had sent away with a note like naughty children. He gave a small wave and a cheerful smile before turning his attention back to the matter at hand. "I know because Morgana Pendragon just ripped a child apart as she forced her way into the world of the living and left taking seven students branded with the dark mark with her."

"The records regarding this school's use this year shows there were nine students with the Dark Lord's mark. If she killed one, and took seven, where is Draco Malfoy, the one who killed the caretaker here?"

He sighed and rubbed his temple. "One, I'm clearly not dead. Two, you didn't even read the note I sent did you? He goes nowhere. He is under my personal protection."

"He cast an Unforgivable."

"He was not in control of his actions, and witnesses will attest that he fought Morgana's influence the entire time, leading to the self amputation of his own arm to release him from her."

"The conditions for his continued freedom state-"

"I don't care. Your laws are bigoted, the ones I do like are severely flawed, and you have no authority over me nor the lands surrounding the Tor. The Old Religion rules here, as it always has and always will."

"Old Religion. Archaic myths. There haven't been druids in these lands since-"

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulder before interrupting the odious official. "I am the Emrys. The Immortal. I am Merlin, the last Dragonlord and Court Sorcerer of Camelot and Albion. I am Magic Incarnate, Keeper of the Old Religion and the Cup of Life. Guardian of Avalon. Need I continue ladies and gentlemen?" he asked. With each declaration, more rubble cleared itself. More stones and statues righted themselves. Stone by stone the ruined entrance began to rebuild itself. A small display of his immense power.

Inwardly he had cringed at the sound of his own voice, intimidating and forceful in ways he never truly was. Arthur had always been better at projecting such things. A natural charisma that commanded loyalty, respect, and awe. Not Merlin. Merlin was always the softer side of the coin. Easily gaining the trust of others, inspiring their friendship and compassion. Where Arthur was the dawn, Merlin had always been the dusk. As Arthur had fought for his people in the light of day unhindered and unafraid, Merlin worked in the shadows and in secret to ensure no one knew the true terrors that hide behind every corner.

Merlin was alive...

And Arthur was not.

"You can call me a liar if you like. It's your right to do so. But you will find that as the days go by, that this woman is far worse than Voldemort could ever have been. She will not stop until she has brought the entire country to its knees in subjugation to her. She will slaughter muggles in droves for sport. Any who oppose her will be put to death in the most excruciating ways possible. Morgana Pendragon is the embodiment of every dark lord your kind has ever seen. She is so powerful as to force her way through a living body, violating all laws of nature, in order to live again. Not even Voldemort could do that."

In the end, they did not agree that he was whom he claimed to be, but there were other pressing matters. And, if he had to use a bit of magic to persuade them to focus their attention on the bodies still in the dining hall, well... then.... no one could prove it could they?

Bodies that hadn't been previously identified, nor ones that Merlin had dealt with himself, were taken to be dealt with. Some came out of Merlin's private residences, to give statements to the Aurors of what had happened. Eventually, it was Harry Potter and Minerva that caused his unwanted guests to disperse and leave. But not before he was informed that he would be called forth by the Wizengmont to testify to his part of the events of the night.

By nightfall, Merlin had sealed off the girl's dorms, relocated all the students to more secure lodgings in the castle. And he'd rolled up his sleeves to help pick up the slack in the kitchens. The days turned into weeks. Most students returned to classes once those parts of the castle had been cleared for use again. Draco Malfoy, however, was not among them. Despite Merlin, and Harry's own understanding that the young man had acted against his will his peers were far less forgiving. His apprenticeship to Guy, however, was the right fit.

However not all returned to how it had been before the attack. Merlin was never any good at politics. He'd told Gwen as much when she'd made him one of her advisers on the council prior to the repeal of the magic ban. Modern politics were more a headache than the old days. In order to even begin to understand the workings of modern wizard government Merlin had to sit down with Minerva and others she had brought to his castle. People she trusted, and whom Harry Potter had vouched for.

"The problem is proving your identity without doubt," the old woman had said as she set down her goblet. "For modern witches and wizards it is a simple matter of consulting birth records. There are spells that can be done to test one's blood for magical heritage. The results of the spell are then compared to official records and family trees."

"But I'm so old there aren't any records. Just Geoffrey's stories. All of which lost most of the details in translation over the years."

"Indeed."

Draco had sat quietly by the fireplace of Guy's chambers, a stack of books from the library on diseases both magical and muggle sat on the floor beside him. He was hunched over with a book in his lap. But he wasn't as preoccupied as he appeared as in a lull of conversation he turned around to face the table. "If you have a wand you can go to Gringotts. Goblin magic is tied closely to the natural world. Not the same as the Old Magic, but similar. They might be able to identify your magical signature. besides, if you have any vaults or accounts you would need to present your wand to access them."

Merlin stared at him. Minerva frowned in concentration and Guy smiled brightly.

"That's a brilliant idea, Draco," Guy said.

"It's certainly possible-" Minerva began.

"Goblins and I don't get on. I have vaults, but that's only because there's only so much I can carry around with me or store under my floorboards. Helping me in this case will not benefit them. And that's the only way they'll do business with me."

"Merlin-"

"Gai- Guy. Remember Arthur's donkey ears?"

Minerva nearly spat out her pumpkin juice. "What?!"

"They've been after me to give them that box for centuries. I promise you, they won't agree to help me unless I hand it over. And that's something I won't do."

"Merlin, which is worse? Fighting with the goblins or letting Morgana roam free?"

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms across his chest indignantly. "Honestly? I'd rather be stripped of magic and forced to face down Morgana with a dull spoon than lose the only leverage I have over the bank."

"With the situation what it is, that may very well be a possibility," Guy said.

Merlin turned his attention to Minerva. "Thoughts?"

"I think," she began. "That you should speak with Harry and his friends. They have experience making deals with goblins. Their insight might be beneficial to your predicament."

"Potter," Draco mumbled from his place by the fire, turning his attention back to his books. "Typical."

They finished their meal, and Merlin cleared the dishes to return them to the kitchens. "I'll think about it. But if you can think of any other options, I'll try those first."

Merlin cleaned the dishes himself, placing them back in the cabinets and toting the scraps out to the gardens for the compost piles. He was restless, and angry. Before he knew it his feet had carried him out into the grounds for the first time since Morgana's rebirth.

He stood at the shore of the impossible, invisible lake. He paced back and forth, ranting and raving and tugging at his hair in frustration. Talking to the air and a dead man who could not hear him. After a while, he managed to settle down, and stood barefoot in the water, up to his ankles. It was not often he did this, soaking in the energies of the mystical, blessed waters. He forced his mind to still by focusing on his heartbeat, then listened to the world around him. To the hum of power that was ever present just below the surface of the world. To the magic that flowed through it, and through him.

"Arthur..." he whispered after a long while, opening his eyes, the golden fire of his power, his radiance burning in them - through him - as he stared out across the still waters. "Where are you..."

"Merlin?"

He frowned. Not many were allowed to call him by his true name yet. His familiar name. His ears twitched as he listened to the shuffle of feet behind him. Merlin cocked his head. The footsteps stopped not far behind him. "Harry," he said. "What did I tell you about this place?"

"We're not the only ones that can see it," Harry replied. Merlin turned around, looking at Harry and the pale, one handed boy beside him.

"Draco?"

The young man nodded as Merlin looked past them. Not too far away, others had started to come down from the castle. "How many?" Merlin asked. "How many can see it?"

"I don't know."

He turned back to the water, staring out into the mists as his heart beat faster. Was this it? Was this the right time? Morgana had been reborn. A far more dangerous and deadly threat than Voldemort and all others before him. "Arthur..." he whispered again, hope swelling in his chest as he stepped further out into the water.

The mists began to part. He could see the distant shore in all it's splendor. The Isle of the Blessed was far more beautiful than he remembered. Was he now seeing it as it truly was? As it looked on the other side of the veil rather than the ruins he had seen when he confronted Nimueh all those years ago?

The waters moved.

Oh they moved. And Merlin could feel it. The pull of magic - as if he were walking towards Camelot for the first time - walking towards his Destiny. It felt like home.

"Merlin? Were are you going?"

Merlin looked down into the water, and there he saw her. Smiling at him in that knowing way she always had. That lovely girl whom he'd wanted to run away with. The girl who had helped him, even in death, to protect his king and their destiny.

Something broke the surface. Struggling. Flailing against gravity as the water threatened to pull it back down into its depths.

Eyes wide, and his heart racing with purpose Merlin surged ahead. He could feel everything as if all his senses were waking at once from a leaden sleep. He dove into the water, swimming forward and ignoring the cries from the shore as he sliced through the water.

A singular purpose. A singular hope.

Hands reached out, grasping. Fingers cutting on rusted metal. Mud slick skin and lake silt coated golden mane. He pulled. Merlin pulled with all his might the struggling, flailing mass of metal and man.

"Arthur!" he screamed to try and calm him. "Arthur!" The body seemed to ease but did not completely still. But it was enough to start pulling him in the direction of the shore.

It was an arduous struggle but Merlin managed to drag him to the shallows. Pulling and tugging until they both fell into a heap in the water. "Help me!" Merlin cried weakly, his strength finally giving out as Harry and a few others rushed to the water to take hold of the two men, pulling them the rest of the way.

Once they had been pulled from the water, Merlin let himself lay on the rock strewn shore, staring up at the sky.

He didn't realize the broken, hysterical laughter he was hearing had come from his own lips until exhaustion took him at last.


	4. Interlude: Prophecy of the Last Druid

From Morgana’s loins the Serpent comes.  
Magic bound and man enslaved  
The land ensnared and darkness reigns.

From despair new love springs.  
When Fires raze and Earth sings  
Heir of Emrys Born.

From duty hidden hope will come.  
When Wind rages and Waters flow  
The Great Dragon renewed.

Together with the ancient Court of Round  
will magic once more become unbound  
and man’s freedom saved.

But take heed oh Eternal One to  
stay your hand and hold your tongue.  
for if once more you fight the Fates  
your time shall never come.  
Destinies shall be undone;  
forever lost will be the Golden Crown  
and forever bound the Dragon King.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh this is pretty much what led to me writing everything else. Thought it would be a good time to throw it in since it's been mentioned in fic a few times by Merlin now as why he couldn't interfere with the Voldemort situation.


	5. As They Were Sleeping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters following Harry and/or Draco won't happen often, but this is one of those times when it does. Their chapters will always have a title to them to help mark them as a bit parallel/separate from Merlin's story.

 

The door to Guy's classroom was thrown open, startling the man from his work. The sound of metal scraping stone caught his attention as two tables were cleared of papers so that two bodies could be levitated up onto them.

"What in- Merlin?!"

"He's just exhausted," Draco said, rushing to the cabinets and searching his professor's potion stores. He found two bottles, and rushed back to Merlin's side. "I've got the old one, you take the metal one," he said to Guy.

Guy turned his attention to the pile of metal dripping on the opposite table. For a moment he couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. Then, he got to work. Old instincts kicking in and his hands moving automatically. "Someone help me get this off him," he said loudly. Two students rushed forward, fingers having to dig through mud and muck to get to the fastenings. Pieces of armor were tossed haphazardly aside as the Once and Future King was manhandled by inexperienced hands.

"How's Merlin doing?" Harry asked from the floor where he had started gathering the pieces of armor, moving them out of the way.

"Limp as a noodle. He won't be waking up any time soon. Not even a pepper-up potion's getting him to wake. He needs dry clothes and a proper bed." He looked around, spotting two students who weren't doing anything. "Finnegan, Zabini, get him out of here and take him to his rooms."

"Now look here Malfoy-" Seamus began, but with a sharp look from Harry his protests died out and he reluctantly helped Blaise to move him out of the workroom. Draco turned his attention to the potions master and the unconscious king. "Tell me what you need," he demanded as Guy and two students finally managed to haul the king's chain-mail off his body, letting it fall to the floor.

"Blood replenish," he said, looking the pale man over after removing his tunic and laying him back down. "Two of them. Fever reductor - red bottle not the green bottle - and a mild enveneration. We don't want him to come to suddenly and attack us."

Draco went back to the stores quickly, searching through them. Harry gathered the discarded armor and chain-mail against the wall nearby. "Ron. 'Mione. I'll meet you guys later."

"Where to?"

"Ah... the dining hall I guess. One of you take everyone, the other get Professor McGonogall. Tell her we need all the teachers together, too. I'll explain everything as soon as I can."

His friends chased the other students out of the room quickly while Harry remained behind. He watched as Draco moved back and forth between the cabinet and the table. The cauldrons and the table. "He came out of the lake," he said. "Mor- Merlin went in after him. Pulled him to the shallows. The rest of us dragged them to shore."

"You can see the lake?"

"Can't you?" Draco asked when he handed him a bowl of water with a cloth hanging off the side. As it passed before Harry, he could smell the faintest whiff of lavender and citrus.

Guy shook his head with a frown. "No. Until now I believed only Merlin capable of seeing Avalon. But now..."

"Not all of us can," Harry replied quickly. "I don't know how many. Half of us maybe?" Harry thought hard on it for a moment before his eyes seemed to light up. "I need to go. Come get me when either one of them wakes up."

Harry left them then and thought about the night's events as he passed through the castle, picking up stragglers on his way. By the time he had reached the dining hall, hearing the chatter of voices on the other side of the doors, he took a deep breath, calmed himself, and put his hand to the door to go inside, the stragglers shuffling in with him. He felt eyes on him, causing his skin to crawl as he looked around the room to see everyone so focused on him. Their voices quieting to murmurs and whispers.

"Harry," Hermione said from nearby, voicing what was on everyone's minds. "What's going on? How is there a lake?! And Mr. Evrett-"

"His name is Merlin. The REAL Merlin."

"Merlin's balls, Harry! Are you serious?!" on of his classmates exclaimed. He nodded seriously, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the wizard world's favorite type of swear now that he had a new frame of reference for it.

As carefully as he could, despite the numerous interruptions, Harry explained everything that he knew. It wasn't much more than what they themselves had witnessed so far, but for once he was grateful for the fame and credibility his mere name carried. The fact that it was Harry telling them these things meant that they had to be true. Even if they sounded impossible.

"Okay, so what you're saying is... that bloke we pulled out of the lake that shouldn't even be there is King Arthur, and the weird guy who's been skulking about the place and taking the piss out of Professor Leander every chance he gets is Merlin. Shouldn't he be like, old and pointy hat and-" the boy ran out of steam, and gestured his hands around uselessly. "Old?" he repeated.

Harry nodded. He didn't know how more plainly he could explain it the evidence before them all. The chattering and voices rose up again in a mixture of excitement and a tinge of fear. "Oi! So why's they come back then?"

Harry was about to answer but Hermione put her hand on his arm. "I've got this one," she said. "Thanks 'Mione."

She cleared her throat and spoke as loud as she could, causing many to drop their volume once again. "That's a good question, actually! I've been doing research for Harry since he first told me about this lake, and now that I can actually see it for myself I think I know the answer. Wizard history tells us about King Arthur's Camelot, but a lot of the information's missing. We don't know much about what happened after he died. All of them agree that when he died he was taken to Avalon, what some in Wizarding Britain now call Elysium... or..." and Hermione's word's cut off, her tone having gone from her usual academic recitations to one of slow realization.

"Or?"

"The land of Eternal Summer," she said, trying to sound professional once again.

Neville seemed to cog on to the same thing she did. "Of course! Where else would someone go to find the Prince of Enchanters! The Summerlands! You know, he's not very good at hiding it is he? I should have known when we kept finding forget-me-nots blooming in the middle of winter."

"Anyway, Justin, listen. Your question about why now? I think it's obvious. The muggle stories said King Arthur would come back when his kingdom needs him the most. I'd say the return of Morgana La Fey, the only witch to ever get one up on the great Merlin, is definitely a threat powerful enough to make King Arthur come back from the dead. As for Merlin?" She glanced to Harry, who just shrugged at her. "Well, I don't think he ever really left to be honest."

After Harry took control of the situation again, and finished telling them all he had to say about what he knew. Professor McGonogall called for everyone to settle down and that their main focus needed to be back on their studies. That they were not soldiers, nor warriors, nor fighters. They were still students seeking to complete their educations. Yes, the return of King Arthur was exciting indeed, but honestly they needed to keep their priorities straight.

Once the majority were dispersed, their transfiguration professor and Headmistress insisted Harry and a few of his friends come with her to her office. Dutifully Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville followed. Once the door to her office had been closed, she placed various charms and spells to keep their conversation private.

"What's this about, Professor?" Ron asked after he dropped himself down into a chair in front of her desk. She sat down, taking her glasses off and rubbing at her eyes tiredly.

"The attack that terrible night was not an isolated incident."

Harry had placed himself by the window, arms crossed over his chest. He frowned now, turning his head only a little towards the weary old woman at the desk.

"The Death Eaters in Azkaban?" Hermione asked.

McGonogall nodded. "Not all escaped. But many who were given the Dementor's Kiss have suddenly become almost feral. Those who avoided Azkaban on parole or pardon have gone missing. And there have been reports of muggle villages being utterly destroyed."

"Why haven't we heard anything?!" Hermione demanded angrily.

Ron had to agree with her. "My parents haven't said anything to me about this. They've been writing every day since the attack-"

"There's not much left of the Order, Mr. Weasley. And what few there are... Kingsley has seen fit to keep us shut out, insisting the Aurors handle things. You parents don't know, because if they did then they would be out there risking their lives again. However it's become so terrible that he has even had to pull Unspeakables out into the field. Obliviate entire counties." She sighed and placed her glasses back on. "I wish I didn't have to ask this of you," she said, looking to Harry now. "You have been through too much for a man so young. But you seem to have some bond or connection to all of this. There is a lake out there that until now only you and our gracious host could see. Now many of the other students see it as well. But I don't."

At this Neville, Ron, and Hermione nearly gave themselves whiplash as they all turned their full attention to her. "You can't?" Hermione asked in surprise.

"No. And we need to understand why some of you can and the rest of us cannot."

Hermione's eyes were alight with ideas, new avenues and concepts to research. "I'll get right on it. Ronald, Neville, I want the both of you to go around and find out who can and can't see it. Ask everyone. Even the staff. If we can find out who, then we can find the common denominator. I'll be able to do better research into it with that information. Harry?" He hummed, indicating he was listening even if he wasn't partaking of the conversation. "Do you think what sets you apart might be what happened... when you went into the forest alone?"

"How do you mean?"

"You told Ronald and I... And I know you don't want to talk about it... But Harry, Avalon is where heroes go when they die. Like the Nordic Valhalla."

"'Mione..." he said, uncrossing his arms and staring her down with a warning tone.

She sighed. "Harry, you can trust Neville, and Professor McGonogall. They won't go telling anyone else, you know this. But if Nev's going to be one of your right hand people, and McGonogall's going to be our eyes and ears with the teachers and the outside world, they need to know. Maybe not everything. But they should know what you were. What you are now."

"What do you mean... were?" Minerva asked, sitting up straighter. "Harry?"

He drew a deep breath, closing his eyes and thinking it over as carefully and as thoroughly as he had time for. Ron and Hermione only knew because they were the ones who'd found him at Number 12. After his second attempt with poisons he'd bought in Knockturne Alley. And Draco... hell, Draco had found out after following him down to the lake late one night when Merlin was still up in his tower. Back when he still had both his hands and thought he'd been caught stealing herbs from Merlin's private garden. Harry had been trying to goad a snake that night to bite him. Knowing it wouldn't work but trying anyway.

He opened his eyes and sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. Hermione was right. He couldn't lie to Professor McGonogall. If he was going to be heading into another battle, he needed her to believe he was strong enough, capable enough to hold it together. And Neville... Hell, Neville had run Dumbledore's Army and endured literal torture for a year just to make sure the other students of Hogwarts were safe. To make sure Harry and his friends could complete their mission. After Ron and Hermione, Neville was his fiercest and most loyal friend and ally. Hell, after comparing their lives after the war the two boys realized that Neville fit the criteria for the prophesy as well. And that the only reason Harry had been marked instead was Snape's assumption while not having heard the entire thing in the first place.

"I can't die," he said at last, causing McGonogall to gasp and Neville to frown. "I don't know how or why. But something happened to me that night in the forest. Voldemort cast the killing curse and I died. I went to this place. This white place that was sort of like King's Cross, but it was all... empty. White. And bright. I felt no pain, no fear, no sadness. I did feel pity when I came across the piece of Voldemort's soul that died with me."

"You were a horcrux?"

Harry nodded at his professor. "I thought you knew. Or at least were told later."

"No. If I had known-"

"You wouldn't have been able to do anything. But it's okay. It explained a lot, really. While I was in this place, I talked to Dumbledore. I'm a little hazy when it comes to what we talked about. But when I came to, Mrs. Malfoy was asking me if Draco was alive. I told her he was alive in the castle, and she lied to Voldemort. Told him I was dead." He turned to look out the window. Watching the sun rise beyond the Tor. Beyond the mists and lighting the gray skies. "Ever since, I can't die. Don't ask me how I know. Just... take my word for it."

"Oh Harry..."

"That's not all," he said softly. "I died while owning all three of the Deathly Hallows. I didn't have the wand with me, but I was it's master at the time. The snitch Dumbledore left to me had the resurrection stone inside. And my cloak..."

Hermione frowned. "If you have all three, according to the legend, you become the Master of Death."

Harry shrugged, not looking at any of them. "Guess now we know it's true."

He told them a little more of what had happened to him the night he faced down Voldemort for the final time. And that he'd left the stone in the forest, having dropped it when he had died. How he had realized in the days after the battle that his relatives were horrible people to begin with, yes, but had gotten worse after being exposed to a horcrux for 10 years before he went to Hogwarts. That now he was out of their lives, and he no longer carried the taint of Voldemort on his soul, his cousin Dudley and his Aunt Petunia at least had started to become better people. Vernon would always be an arsehole. But it couldn't be helped. What had opened his eyes to the effect his mere presence had on them had been Ron's jealousy and anger when exposed to Slytherin's locket while it had still been a horcrux. It was older than Harry's had been. Had a larger piece of the dark lord inside it, so it's effects were faster and stronger compared to the long period of exposure his relatives had needed in order to become the terrible people they were.

By the time the five of them had finished, Harry slunk off to the room he shared with Ron and crawled into bed exhausted. He pretended to be asleep when he heard Ron come in sometime later.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Words in Italics = the old language spoken in Albion and Camelot._  
>  Names won't always be in Italics if the dialogue is just the name itself because really, a name is a name regardless.

 

Merlin had woken in his chambers, his skin sensitive and his magic buzzing. The morning light streaming in through his window, casting the room in a bright glow. His body felt stiff, and he found himself sleeping in wizard robes. Which was odd because he didn't own any. Looking around his room, nothing seemed out of place or different... except...

Laid out over two chairs by the fireplace were a shirt and a pair of jeans. He frowned. He'd worn those the day before.

He rose from his bed and strode across the room to look at them. Stained dark with mud, someone had cast a very poor cleaning charm on them. The denim still felt a bit damp. Where would he have...

"Oh..." he said slowly. He must have been at the Lake. He looked around for his shoes. Surely they must be somewhere, caked in mud. If his clothes were wet then it meant he'd gone and thrown another tantrum on the shore. Made a damn fool of himself in front of Freya again. He hoped he hadn't lashed out at Aithusa if the poor old girl had come to comfort him again.

He changed out of the robes, watching as they turned back into a blanket when they hit the floor. A transfigured set of robes? Someone else must have dressed him then. Which could only mean Harry had found him.

Standing at his wardrobe he selected a few clothes. Another pair of jeans with many patches of mismatched denim used to mend the holes. But they had been so comfortable he couldn't dare part with them despite their quarter of a century age. He looked through his shirts, trying to decide between blue and brown before shrugging and opting for both. Blue tee over brown long sleeves. Very muggle. That would annoy that insufferable and ever proper twat Professor Leander.

As an afterthought he grabbed a square of red cloth, letting his fingers run over the fine fabric with a soft, but sad smile. Though spring was right around the corner, the castle still got quite chilly. He tired it around his neck haphazardly, once again fingering the fabric. It was much nicer than the ones he'd worn during Arthur's reign. But this one in particular had been a gift from Gwen for his birthday a few years after the battle that took her husband and his dearest friend. He'd always found comfort in it, even so many centuries later. It had been one of the few personal items he had charmed and enchanted to ensure he never lost it.

He glanced out the window, surveying the grounds with a sigh and staring out towards the Tor, as he often did.

And then... then it hit him in a rush. The mud. The wet. The feel of mud and silt under his fingers. He looked down at his hands. Fine white lines where he'd sliced them on something rusty. Something old and heavy and-

Merlin ran from his chambers, bare feet slapping the stones as he ran, uncaring that he'd left his shoes by the lake shore. Uncaring that he hadn't thought to stop and pull on his spares. He had to know it wasn't a dream. It was real. It was true.

As if sensing his urgency his magic lashed out, shoving people out of the way and throwing open the doors ahead of him as he made his way to Guy's workroom. He skid to a stop just outside it. His magic did not dare open this door for him.

What if he'd dreamed it? What if he'd finally, truly gone mad. What if Morgana's return wasn't enough, and there was some greater threat looming in the future that required the ancient King even more than now? What if- What if his small acts of mercy and kindness, tending to the sick and injured on the outer fringes of that damnable wizard war to the north had doomed him?

Not since his King had died in his arms had Merlin felt so fearful. His hands were shaking as he reached for the door. He winced as it creaked when opened. He poked is head in, but kept his eyes closed. Did he want to look? Did he want to see nothing out of the ordinary? Did he want-

"Merlin, it's about time," Guy said with a yawn.

Merlin opened the door further, but dared not open his eyes as he felt around.

Guy shook his head. "Open your eyes, you fool boy, before you trip up and harm yourself."

He opened one eye, just a little, then opened them both wide. He forgot to breathe. His voice was lost. A lump in his throat as he didn't know whether to cry or laugh or fall to his knees in joy. His long wait was over. And he didn't care that it meant the world might end. That Morgana was from whatever personal hell he had sent her to with his own hands. He didn't care that his castle was ill repaired.

Breathing the shallow breath of sleep, with his face smudged still with a bit of dirt and covered in a threadbare sheet with a lumpy pillow under that dirt crusted golden halo of hair, was the most beautiful sight his ancient eyes had beheld in over a thousand years.

"He's resting," Guy explained as he came forward, taking Merlin by the hand and leading him to a chair beside the table Arthur lay stretched out on. "Whatever... whomever had him in their care... they healed the deepest parts of his wound, and I found no sign of shrapnel or blades. They did little else for him but keep him in a sort of frozen state. I've given him potions to help with the fever, and to help replenish the blood lost before his death. I've given small doses of a mild enveneration potion only to rouse him enough to check for lasting brain damage.

"And?"

"He will be fine. Rest is what's needed most now. And when he wakes, I don't care how hungry he may claim to be. Broths and clear liquids only."

Merlin nodded, reaching up, but holding his hand back. Guy simply nodded, after which Merlin did reach up and touch him through the sheet. "I was afraid... when I remembered last night. I thought I'd dreamed him."

"You know what his return means, Merlin."

"I know. But it doesn’t mean I can't be happy about it. You have no idea how much... How much I've longed for this day. Begged for this day." Merlin felt a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. "Stay with him. I need to sleep, and Draco won't be up again or a while yet. Poor boy's run himself ragged through the night, throwing together potion after potion and standing vigil over Arthur."

"He did?"

Guy nodded. Giving his shoulder one more squeeze and left him, closing the workroom door behind himself.

Merlin sat, his hand resting on Arthur's arm, the only barrier between them the thin cloth under his fingertips. He let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding in and scooted to the edge of his chair, leaning forward to press his forehead against the edge of the table. His shoulders shook as he sobbed. Relief that his long wait was over. Joy that his king had returned. Anger and rage that it had been Morgana's presence that had caused the Sidhe to give him back to Merlin.

He thought after so long he would have no more tears to shed as his hand slipped away. So consumed with his emotions was Merlin that he did not notice the rustle of fabric. Nor the cool touch of a hand that came to rest on his head.

" _Mer_ lin." Hoarse and scratchy with disuse.

He sat up, knocking the hand away in the process and stared with wide, blue eyes at the tired ones looking back at him from the pale, dirt streaked face. "Sire?" He grabbed up Arthur's hand, holding it between his own as if to reassure himself that the man was really there. Really awake. That he'd really heard that voice again after so many lifetimes spent alone. "You're- You're alive! You're here! You're real!" Merlin felt fresh tears following the same tracks down his cheeks as he held Arthur's hand tightly. "Oh God, Arthur. I-"

_"I can't sleep with you blubbering away like this."_

He half choked-half laughed as he got up, nearly forgetting to let go of Arthur's hand. "You can't sleep here. I need to get you to a room. Can't leave you on a table like this."

"Merlin."

"Stay right here, sire. I'll get help."

"Merlin."

But the warlock had already rushed out the door, shouting for anyone who could hear him for aid. "You! You there! I need some help. The King, he- He's awake!"

From where he lay on the table, Arthur groaned and stared after his manservant. He was not left alone in the room for long before Merlin came striding in, followed by three young men. He could not understand a word that was coming out of Merlin's mouth. But he heard the scraping of metal as nearby one of the young men gathered up his ruined armor. Another, with cheeks tinged pink turned away from the king and found a sheet. He waved a stick over it, chanting something in yet another language Arthur did not fully recognize.

The king pushed himself up to a sitting position, the sheet that had covered him to keep him warm and protect his modesty fell to his lap. The man with the stick had turned a sheet into trousers, which Merlin took into hand. With wild gestures and rapid fire words in a harsh tongue Merlin ordered them about. The young man with Arthur's armor scurried from the room, followed by another for some purpose unknown to the King.

" _Mer_ lin-"

Merlin turned to him now, staring at him with that big, bright smile. Tears still welling up in the corners of his eyes that he refused to shed. He spoke rapidly, the harsh barking tongue and coming forward with trousers in hand.

Arthur put up a hand to indicate for him to stop.

_"I can't understand you."_

Merlin frowned and murmured quietly to his helper who nodded and looked at the king. The young man then pointed to Arthur, talking quickly with Merlin before rushing out of the room. Soon, they were alone again. Merlin said nothing, and Arthur hated to see the look of concern on his old friend's face. Merlin came forward, offering him the trousers and speaking haltingly to him, almost as if he had to think of the words he needed before saying them. _"Sorry,"_ Merlin said in a way Arthur could finally understand him. _"Our language. Changed. Gone. I read it. I can hear it. I cannot speak it well anymore."_ He held up the pants again, indicating he wanted to get him dressed. Arthur stared at him a long moment, allowing his expression to soften once he understood Merlin's difficulty in communicating with him. They would need to work together to find a solution. He couldn't speak to only Merlin. What if the other man ran off and left him with the servants? Certainly he'd need to be able to order them around on his own without Merlin's help all the time.

He nodded and discarded the sheet. Merlin rushed forward, kneeling in front of him to pull the trousers up over his feet, bunching them up so that when Arthur slid off the table, his bare feet touching the cold stone floor, Merlin could raise them up his legs.

The fabric was stiff, and a bit tight. As if realizing this on his own, Merlin muttered under his breath and the fabric loosened a bit as he raised the trousers up to his hips. Arthur willed himself not to bristle at the open and blatant use of magic around him. Even as he felt it tickle across his skin when Merlin made minor adjustments to his only piece of clothing.

After a quick tug of something Merlin fastened a metal button and stood. He clapped both hands on Arthur's shoulders with a broad smile.

 _"Forgetting something?"_ Arthur asked, tilting his head just a little as if waiting for Merlin to realize he was only half dressed.

His manservant's cheeks tinted pink before he grabbed the sheet that had once covered Arthur and spoke a quiet incantation. The sheet darkened in color to a rich, deep burgundy as it morphed into something else altogether.

Merlin spoke, then caught himself and repeated so Arthur could understand him. _"Arms."_

He waited for Arthur to get into position, then yanked the fabric over his arms and fed his head through a hole that had seemed far too small. But it had stretched to accommodate.

 _"Still dirty,"_ Merlin said once Arthur was dressed. _"But better. Can you walk?"_

 _"Yes_ Mer _lin, I can walk."_

_"Then come. I will take you to better rooms."_

Arthur wasn't too happy about having to follow his own servant around, but after having gotten turned around twice he realized the value of sticking close and letting Merlin lead the way. He tried to banter, poking fun at him like they used to do, before the battle. Before Mordred had... But the language issue caused problems despite the liberal use of the words 'prat' and 'clotpole'. It was frustrating. Taking in the strangeness of the people they passed in the corridors, and the looks of wonder or apprehension cast their way. Paintings on the walls that seemed to move, bowing to him as he and Merlin passed them by. They turned down a corridor that, to Arthur, had seen better days.

He stopped, staring at the suits of armor standing vigil halfway down it.

"Merlin?"

His servant stopped, turning to look at him as Arthur stared at the suits. The gleaming metal and familiar shields and swords. One, in particular, he recognized as larger than the others. Each set had a minor differences, but they were unmistakable. He felt heat behind his eyes, and a stinging in them that threatened to overtake him.

 _"Come. Eat. Rest,"_ Merlin said, coaxing his king into following him again. They came at last to a large wooden door just like all the others in the corridor. Merlin went in first, throwing his hand out to light the lanterns that decorated the room. Arthur stepped in behind him, recognizing the two young men already waiting for them. One had taken his armor, which now sat piled on a sideboard. The other had set out a tray with bowls, some bread, and a clear glass pitcher.

Merlin spoke in that harsh tongue again, and the two young men eyed Arthur a moment before saying something back and leaving.

Arthur took the opportunity to look around the room. It was far simpler than his own rooms in his own castle. But it was much more cozy than the room in which he'd woken with Merlin blubbering beside him. He walked around touching everything. A simple, plain chest of drawers. A wooden four poster bed big enough for one. Red and gold curtains were pulled back to expose matching bedding. A shelf with nothing on it but a lantern and a pot of ink and a quill. A small table beside the bed, upon which sat a small, strange photograph that like the paintings in the corridor, moved. The picture was of a forest and a ruin. The trees and the grass moved gently as if being moved by a breeze.

 _"Camelot,"_ Merlin said when Arthur had picked up the silver picture frame. _"What is left."_

He felt a tightening in his chest as he thought of his kingdom. His wife. His home.

_"Gwen was a good queen. Fair. Just. Honorable."_

_"Good. Did she ever..."_

_"No. Too much heartbreak, she said."_ His smile didn't reach his eyes, and he was glad that Arthur's back was turned to him. _"Married to her kingdom. Her reign was long. Three and a half decades of peace."_ Merlin shrugged as he arranged Arthur's restricted meal at the head of the table. Bowl of hot broth, glass of water, and herb bread. Not much, but after the potions that had been put into Arthur's stomach, it would take a day or two before he could eat something more substantial without causing issues. _"I helped."_

Arthur set the frame back down reverently before turning away from it and heading towards the table. The table sat within view of the fireplace. Mounted on the wall above the mantle was a shield. He recognized it immediately as the one he himself had used in tournaments. The more he looked around the room, the more he realized the little things dotted here and there for decoration. A tapestry depicting a hunt - one that had always hung in his private chambers during winter to help guard against draft. A box upon the mantle, boasting the Pendragon crest that had once been in his rooms as king. It was where he kept his wax and seal for singing official papers.

As Arthur sat down at the table, letting Merlin fuss over him he was quite moved by his servant's devotion. Clearly much time had passed for him since they had last seen one another, though for Arthur it felt like only a few days had passed. He could not be sure how long it had been for Merlin, but the fact he had gathered so much of Arthur's personal things together, and kept them all this time... it was both eerie and fascinating.

 _"Merlin,"_ he said suddenly, shocking the man into stillness. _"Merlin, sit down before you hurt yourself."_

"Arthur-"

 _"_ Mer _lin. Do I have to make it a command from your king?"_

Merlin laughed and dropped himself into the seat to Arthur's right and pulled a bowl of broth towards himself with a smile.

Despite the barrier of time and language between them, the familiar companionship they had once shared had settled on them. The more they conversed, the less stilted Merlin's speech became. It was still careful and thought out, but Arthur appreciated the effort Merlin took to try and remember how to form the words. He had so many questions for his old friend, but did not know quite where to begin. So conversation flowed this way and that. Merlin told him about the golden age of Camelot after Arthur defeated the Saxons. He told him of Gwen repealing the ban on magic, and his own rise in station to adviser, then Court Sorcerer. Arthur listened with pride swelling in his breast as Merlin told him of the other rulers in Albion turning to Camelot for guidance. How Arthur's sacrifice had brought the land together. A united Albion that, while it had met its troubles and tribulations had broken apart only once until it had been reunited under a single crown again after the death of a queen named Elizabeth, and the crowning of her nephew James as king of both Scotland, the land to their north, and England, the land in which they currently sat.

Hours passed in this fashion, and soon they had run out of bread, broth, and water. Merlin had noticed Arthur had grown tired once again. He left him briefly, leaving their bowls and cup stacked on the tray and returning with a towel. He went to the tapestry of a hunt and moved it aside, revealing another door. _"In here. A chamber pot and bath. It is very different from Camelot. Let me show you, sire."_

Arthur was hesitant, but stood from the table and followed him through the door. The room was small, with a window high up on the wall above a large white bath with strange metal feet holding it up. The design, from what he could tell, were similar to large reptilian claws. On the side was a tap of sorts. Rather than a pump like at the wells had been a knob on either side of it. _"Hot,"_ Merlin said, pointing to the one on the left. _"Cold,"_ he said as he repeated the action with the one to the right of the tap. He turned to indicate a white seat against the wall. _"Chamber pot. Use, then pull the chain there."_

Merlin set the towel aside and went to the bath. Arthur watched as Merlin put a stopper into a hole in the bottom, then turned the knobs at the spout. Water began to fill the tub as Merlin moved to open small cabinets built into the walls of the room. Pulling out bottles and examining them before finding what he wanted and moving to sit on the side of the tub. He uncorked one, sniffing it and adding a bit of the contents to the water. He repeated this with two more before shutting off the water and returning the bottles to their place in the cabinet.

_"You can undress yourself. Clean up, then rest."_

_"You're not going to wait for me to finish?"_

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again to think. A subtle shake of his head. _"No. I have other duties that need my attention. I'll ask one of the teachers here who can speak some of our language to come visit you. He needs to look you over and make sure you are well."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dialogue in Italics = spoken in the old language of Albion and Camelot_

 

Despite his desire to remain at Arthur's side, Merlin wasn't lying about having other duties that needed his attention. First he had to see if Guy was awake and around so he could update him on the situation. Especially the language barrier. Then, he needed to take a flashlight to the basements of the tower - to his most secure of holdings in order to find The Box. The wretched box he had collected from Camelot's vaults before he punched Arthur's old, aged cousin in the face and broke his nose for insulting the only recently deceased Queen Gwen.

He'd taken a lot of things from the Camelot Vaults that day, much of it for sentimental value, but others to ensure no one like Uther or his ilk would ever get their hands on objects of power like those again.

The Goblin Box was one of them. He had two choices to prove his identity now. Seek help from the goblins of Gringotts... or show up to a hearing with King Arthur Pendragon, newly returned from Avalon. And like hell he was going to let those Ministry morons get their hands or wands anywhere near his king. Not when so many of them were the exact type of sorcerers he had spent an entire decade protecting the fool of a prince, then king, from in the first place.

Sure, he knew not all of them were bad people. Certainly that Ginny girl's father seemed alright enough. And the new Minister - Shacklebolt he thought the name was - didn't appear to be a greedy son of a bitch. But in a post-war era Merlin knew all too well that opportunistic carrion would come out to pick over what was left. It was only a matter of time before the corruption of the Ministry would return. As it always had. An unending cycle. It was part of why he had hid himself so thoroughly against them.

It was why he wanted to keep them as far away from Arthur as he possibly could.

So to do this, he needed guidance. He needed advice. He needed someone who had made deals with goblins before.

Harry Potter sat staring at the box on the table, having been dragged from his supper with his friends into Guy's workshop.

"So there's a goblin. In here?" Harry asked, poking the box with is wand. "And you're going to trade it for help from the bank."

"It's my only viable option. Minerva said you have dealt with them before, and that I should seek your advice. Goblins and I don't exactly get on."

"I can see why. You've got one in a box."

"To be fair it possessed a girl, stole gold from the palace, and was generally causing chaos and havoc. Goblins in my day were very different than they are now. And the ones now are very keen to get one of their ancestors back."

"They want all goblin related artifacts back. I had to trade the sword of Gryffindor just to get one to help me break into a vault."

"My aunt's vault," Draco piped up from his cauldron in the corner. "Only Potter and his friends could get through all the defenses, break the curses on her vault, and then escape on the back of a blind dragon."

Merlin turned his attention back to Harry, mouth hanging open. He wasn't sure whether he should be impressed or in awe. It sounded like a quest that belonged in the annals of Camelot rather than recounted as an average adventure for a boy from Surrey. "Really? A dragon? How did you manage that?"

Harry shrugged. "It wanted to escape. We wanted to escape. It was a win-win situation."

"Have you always had an affinity for dragons?"

"No. Just snakes. It was... ah... part of the whole.... Voldemort thing," the young man replied, clearly uncomfortable. So he changed the topic back to the box in front of him. "So you think that if you give them this box, they'll help you. Because their magic is similar to yours and they'll be able to vouch for you that you are Merlin or Emrys or whatever."

Merlin nodded.

"I don't trust them. Are you sure you don't own a wand or anything they can check instead?"

"Unfortunately no. I have a staff but... the last time it came into contact with a Goblin... well. They were scraping what was left of Rotmourn off the ceiling of the branch manager's office in Moscow for a week."

"Okay... Maybe a blood inheritance spell then? Or a Truth Quill?"

Merlin sighed, dropping himself down dramatically into a chair. "It's no use. With no birth records, they can't prove that my mother is my mother. Especially from so long ago. And Truth Quills can be tricked. I'd use Veritaserum if not for the fact I invented it. By accident. And am allergic to most of what's in it."

"You can't die. So you'll swell up or vomit or something," Harry said.

Draco smirked. "Actually, that might just work. If you die, and then come back to life in front of everyone-"

Merlin twisted in his chair to glare at Draco. "One, just because I don't stay dead doesn't make some methods any less painful. Veritaserum leaves me dead for days as my body tries to purge the toxins. And I have to stay in a crystal cave the entire time. Not pleasant."

"Then I'm all out of ideas."

"Wait..." Harry said, tapping the goblin box. "Wait a moment... The blood inheritance spell might work after all. Just not the way we expect." he started, but Merlin turned back to him with a frown. "No, hear me out. You've lived practically forever. You can't have been alone the entire time. Did you ever get married? Have kids?"

Merlin looked away. "What are you getting at?"

Draco turned away from his cauldron to let it simmer before joining them at the table. He didn't take a seat, but instead sat himself on the corner, leaning some to see the box and keeping himself propped up with his one good arm. "That might work. The Sacred Twenty Eight were obsessive about their family trees. How much time do we have before you need to go before the Ministry?"

"They sent a summons weeks ago. I've been putting it off. Not hard to do when there's a psychotic high priestess running around the country."

Harry nodded. Draco sighed. "I don't have access to the family library," he said then added before Harry could ask, "War reparations. But every pureblood house has the same book. A ledger of sorts that automatically updates when a family member is born, married, or dies. Even distant relations are listed in the ledger, detailing their connection to the ancient houses. If Merlin ever married into one of those families, or has decedents that did, he will be listed in the ledgers."

"Can they be falsified?" Merlin asked.

"No. The magic involved is... well, no one really knows how it works. My father prided himself on the purity of the Malfoy family compared to many of the others in the ledger. The ledgers can't be fooled, and they can't be altered. It's part of why the Pure-Blood Directory was written so that certain... indiscretions among the muggles and magical beasts could be hidden away."

"Every pureblood family has one of these books?"

Draco nodded. "It's reasonable to assume so. I would get mine but like I said... No access."

Harry sat back in his chair and stroked his chin in thought. "Would the goblins have a book as well? Something to check records against?"

Draco shrugged, glancing at Merlin. "It's possible they have seized copies. They're very valuable. Invented, they say, to ensure only the real heirs could claim inheritance. A man's blood cannot lie."

"I can search my vaults at Gringotts, and the library at Number 12. I may have the Black and Potter copies. We can write to Neville's grandmother to have the Longbottom copy checked, too. Ron's parents might have the Prewitt and Weasley ones. We can search through all of those for a connection. But that's assuming we have a name other than Merlin to look for."

The man himself listened to the two young men, tossing ideas back and forth, plotting an alternative plan to avoid Merlin giving up his Goblin Box. "How far back do you think the ledgers go?" he said suddenly.

"The Malfoy copy went back to the 1400s. Some might go further. We wouldn't know until we looked," Draco said.

"You're looking for Icarius Peverell," Merlin said, getting to his feet and picking up the box. "And his daughter Iolanthe. Somewhere around the 1300s."

"Peverell?" Draco glanced to Harry as Merlin crossed the room. Harry watched him, eyes narrowed even more.

"Let me know if you find anything," he said before leaving the two boys to their ideas.

With the Goblin Box tucked under his arm, Merlin went back to his workrooms in the tower where a muggle contraption sat on one of his workbenches. To most wizards and witches, Merlin knew it was an odd thing. But those born outside the magical world, among the muggles - it was something common enough to have a name. A prosthetic. A false limb.

Merlin had been working on it for weeks, having acquired it in the nearby muggle city on a trip with some of the staff to get more food supplies. He had made remarkable progress in animating the object, having stripped away much of the plastic and reinforcing it with scraps of metal. Protection runes and incantations had been etched into it. Enchantments of both New Magic and Old Religion. He had gotten the idea after having read a muggle book published some twenty years prior. He was bent over his work, testing each individual finger before carving yet another intricate symbol into the shining surface of the metal when a knock came to his door.

"Enter!" he called without looking up from his work. Behind him the door opened and he heard a slight cough to get his attention. He lifted his head and turned on his stool, frowning. "One of Harry's friends, right?"

"Hermione," she said politely. "I didn't mean to disturb you but Professor Wilson said you would probably be up here."

He sighed. "Yes, what do you need?"

"It's more what you need, sir," she said, stepping into the room and closing the door carefully behind her. "You're having trouble with, er, well, how should I address him? He's not a king anymore but it would be very disrespectful to call him something as familiar as-"

"Just call him a prat. I always do."

"Yes, well." She cleared her throat again and reached for her purse. She dug around in it for quite some time before pulling out a small bundle of cloth. She crossed the room and offered it to him. "Here. It might help. Dean told Seamus who told Luna, who told Ginny, who then told me that no one but you can understand him. And since our magic doesn't react the same to you or Her when used on you directly," she said, not wanting to give the woman who'd killed so many in the castle already a proper name. "I thought it might not work well for his highness either."

Merlin accepted the offered bundle, opening the cloth to see a silver chain inside, with a large piece of blue glass embedded into a pendant.

"It's all I had to work with. I put a translation charm on it, and worked with Seamus and Blaise to test out different languages and fine tune it. If he wears it when he speaks it will glow green and it should change what we hear to English. And when we speak it should glow violet and change what he hears to, well, whatever it is he's been speaking to us."

Merlin stared at the pendant, then looked up at the expectant face of the young woman who'd given it to him. "Thank you."

"It isn't perfect, of course. I've only been working on it for a day, and we can't speak too quickly otherwise it will sound like gibberish to him. And there is some delay when a word can't be translated easily because there's no comparable term. As long as he doesn't get blasted with a significantly powerful magical attack while wearing it, the charm should hold. I thought he could use it until he gets used to English."

Merlin wrapped the necklace back up and turned to set it on his workbench. "Don't sell yourself short. I've been so wrapped up in everything I never would have thought to make him something like that." Then, Merlin was struck with an idea. "Your parents were muggles, right?"

She nodded, unsure where this conversation was going. Since she'd first stepped foot into the wizarding world, she didn't much care for anyone who brought up her parentage or blood status. Merlin smiled brightly and moved aside some so she could see what he had out on his workbench.

"It's a gift for Draco. To replace the one he's lost. You're good with imbuing charms and magic into objects?"

"Oh yes. It's one of my specialties. It came in very handy during the last year of the war. And admittedly I couldn't pass up on some of the conveniences that I normally didn't have out in the muggle world during the summers." She stepped closer and peered down at his project. "May I?" she asked.

"Be my guest. What do you think of it? I'm attempting to make it fully articulated. I want the hand and fingers to react like a real hand would. He just thinks and reaches out, and the hand responds. I was planning to have him test it for me before the Sidhe gave Arthur back to me."

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye as she picked up the false arm and turned it over in her hands, inspecting the charms and symbols carved into it. "So it was Sidhe that were holding him? I thought it might be the Lady of the Lake. Or the Goddess."

"Nope. I had to make a deal with very little time to negotiate terms." Merlin stood from his stool, allowing her to sit down to continue her inspection of the false limb. Merlin tucked the gift from her into his pocket before going to his shelves and looking through his collections.

He pulled a book from his shelves and opened it briefly, skimming through a few pages before placing it back and selecting another. He returned to his workbench as she was just setting down the limb. "Take this," he said.

"Sir?"

"That makes me feel incredibly old. Just call me Merlin. Even as one of the Queen's advisers I never much liked using a title." He offered her the book again. "I expect this back at the end of term, young lady. It's very dear to me but I trust your mind is up for a challenge."

"T-thank you. Thank you very much," she said, taking the old book and opening it. Much of what had been inside was hand written. The language used was rather old but she was quite used to it, having spent much of her time in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library over the years.

"It belonged to my late husband. He was very good with charms and enchantments, and taught me much about modern magic your kind take for granted. I think you'll find his notes in the margins very helpful." He turned his attention back to the false hand, asking her for her thoughts on his work and if she had any ideas for improvements. When the sky outside began to darken, the pair realized far too long had passed. Hermione apologized for taking up so much of his time as she had clutched the book to her chest, thanking him over and over again. Merlin apologized once or twice for having kept her from her classes, and thanked her for her kind gift of the necklace as well as her insights into his project.

They parted at the base of the tower, Hermione rushing off to find Harry and Ron while Merlin decided to collect a few things from his rooms before visiting with Arthur. However, Draco stopped him outside of the king's chamber. "He's down at the Lake."

"What?"

"We went to check on him earlier, and he kept getting aggravated before storming off."

"Is he down there alone?"

"I left Potter with him."

"And no one thought to come get me?" He groaned, letting himself into Arthur's room only so that he could put down his bag. "You know what, don't answer that. Go on back to Guy. I'm sure he probably needs you for something."

"Actually I have the rest of the night off. I was just heading to the dining hall for some food to take back to my rooms. I have letters to write so I can get some of those books we discussed."

"Right... right," Merlin said, waving a hand dismissively. "As you were then. If you need me-"

"The Lake. If you could, tell Potter..." he trailed off, then seemed to think better of what he wanted to say. "Never mind. If he asks, tell him I've gone off duty for the night and I'll see him tomorrow."

Merlin gave a small nod before they parted ways. Draco towards the dining hall and Merlin towards the main entrance.

It did not take long for the warlock to cross the grounds, the weight of Hermione's gift in his pocket a reminder of the girl's ingenuity and kindness. He couldn't help beaming from ear to ear as he strode forward with purpose. The closer he got to the lake, however, he noticed the sound of wood smacking wood rather hard. Merlin stretched out his hand, creating a ball of light and shooting it forward ahead of him, towards the two men at the water's edge where it bobbed near them.

"Whoa!" he heard a voice exclaim, belonging to neither Arthur nor Harry, who both now stood with their large sticks aloft. Both panting with effort.

Merlin turned his attention, however, to the red haired boy sitting on his favorite boulder. "You!" he exclaimed once he'd gotten close enough. "You're supposed to be keeping your friend out of trouble! And here he is, sparring with a man who should be resting!"

"Hey, I had nothing to do with this!" he shouted back.

Arthur gave Harry a slight nod, which was returned before the king jabbed his stick into the dirt and smiled at his old friend. _"_ Mer _lin! So good of you to finally bother to show up."_

_"I told you I had duties."_

Harry tossed his stick aside and looked from one man to the other. "Uh... mind speaking English?"

Arthur glanced over his shoulder with a frown as Merlin's eyes lit up, his smile returning. _"Actually, I have something for you, sire."_ Hermione's gift was pulled out, the cloth opened and the necklace presented to Arthur. "Take this and put it on."

Arthur's attention was once more on Merlin. He peered at the offered cloth bundle, frowning. _"Jewelry Merlin? Really? I'm not a girl you can buy with cheap baubles."_

Merlin rolled his eyes and let out a petulant sigh. _"You clotpole. It's a gift from a student. It will help us speak."_

_"Is it magic?"_

_"Yes. But good magic. To help, not to harm."_

Arthur was reluctant. After all, for Merlin it had been hundreds, maybe a thousand years since he had confessed his great burden to his dying king. But for Arthur it still felt like only a few days since he lay dying and his best friend was sobbing over him, declaring himself a sorcerer. He had tried to keep to his room all day. Had warily watched as his lunch was brought in and the cups and utensils moved about on their own. And watched in a mixture of fascination and horror as the chamber pot sucked the water down into the abyss before refilling itself with water. Water! He had pulled the chain to make it work multiple times before he'd grown bored with it and half afraid he would run whatever well had been connected to it dry.

 _"Please?"_ Merlin said when he realized Arthur's hesitation. _"Just try it, for me?"_

Arthur gave a subtle nod. Merlin plucked the pendant from the cloth and shoved the fabric into his pocket before unfastening the clasp of the silver chain. He came forward and stepped around behind Arthur to slip the chain around his neck. Fingers couldn't help but brush the nape of his king's neck as he fastened the clasp. The touch was intimate, but too brief to be considered truly improper. "There, now turn around," Merlin said in English.

Arthur frowned a moment as the pendant settled against his chest. He looked down at it, examining the piece of blue glass as Merlin spoke again.

"Arthur, would you just turn around?"

He dropped the pendant when it glowed violet, letting it fall back down against his chest. He turned around, facing Merlin and the two boys.

"Can you understand me, Clotpole?"

Again, the pendant gave off a violet glow.

Arthur frowned. "I understand that clotpole still isn't a real word."

The pendant glowed again. Green.

"Say something else!" Violet.

Then green. "I hear words that are different, but I understand them."

Merlin looked to Harry and his friend. "Are you hearing this? You hear English, right?" Violet.

The two young men nodded. " _Mer_ lin, what are you on about? I don't speak Saxon." Green.

"Ah, translation glitch there," Merlin said, but he did not let it diminish his grin.

"Does this mean I can speak with the servants, too?"

Merlin winced. "They're not... they're not servants. Nobody really has servants anymore."

"You're still my servant though, right?"

"Of course I am. I told you before... But these people here in my castle are students. They come to learn magic from teachers."

Arthur eyed him suspiciously. "That's your castle?"

"Yeah," he replied, reaching out and clapping a hand on Arthur's broad shoulder. "Come on. Let's get back to MY castle and have dinner."


	8. Chapter 8

 

Merlin didn't mind Harry and his friend following them up to the castle. It gave Arthur plenty of practice with his translation pendant to test out its limits. Though, the red headed boy's frequent use of Merlin's name in some rather inventive wizard swearing was rather irritating. To Merlin. To Arthur it seemed as if a source of endless amusement the more he watched his old friend twitch and grimace with each utterance.

They'd gone inside, and once again Arthur had noticed paintings were moving. Bowing to him as he walked through the corridors. When Merlin made to lead him back down the corridor with the suits of armor, Arthur resisted.

"No more soups, _Mer_ lin. I need meat. I need a big roast chicken. Something of substance."

"Ah... Well..."

"And I want to see more than just one hallway and two small rooms. You have an entire castle. I want to see more of it."

"He's got a good point, you know!" called a voice from one of the paintings nearby.

"Shut it, Galahad! This doesn't concern you!"

"I'm just saying... you can't keep him all to yourself _my lord_."

Merlin seemed to growl in frustration, turning away from Arthur and striding back the way they'd come a bit. Arthur watched as Merlin angrily shook a finger at a painting, shouting at it angrily as it sort-of shouted back at him. Arthur found the entire exchange bizarre, much like the rest of what he had seen thus far of this new future world.

"One more word out of you, and I'll set you on fire. Again. Go bother Frick for a while, you... you..."

" _Mer_ lin are you seriously arguing with a wall? I'm starving. Let's go eat."

"Yeah, Merlin, go take the princess and-" The painting never finished that sentence, as Merlin stepped away, the corner of his frame came alight with a bright blue flame before putting itself out. The frame, and the edges of the painting itself were not left without black scorch. Merlin smiled in satisfaction before turning on his heel and striding confidently back to his king's side.

"Come on then."

"What in the world was that about?"

"Galahad is... a very long story. I will tell you later, I promise. So, hungry?" he said, covering his frustration up with a big bright smile.

When they'd gotten to the dining hall, Merlin went in first to ensure Arthur wouldn't get swarmed. He needn't be worried, as the hall had only been half full, the dining hours nearly through. He caught sight of the boys who'd helped him when Arthur first woke. They were huddled around Harry and his red headed friend, chattering excitedly. When he caught the eye of the dark skinned one, he gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

"This way, Arthur. The head table."

Behind him Arthur's pace had slowed to a crawl. The pendant on his chest was glowing as he tried to listen to the cacophony of conversation swirling around him. He could make out bits and pieces, but much of it ran together into what could only be described as gibberish. Two long tables lined the room, from one end to the other. At the far end of the large room was another table, where an old woman in heavy velvet robes in rich, dark reds and purples sat. To one side of her sat an empty chair. To the other was Guy - the man Merlin had sent to him earlier in the day to check him for injuries and sickness. The man who had spoke to him in his own tongue a little. It had been a very welcome effort, even if they couldn't communicate at the time very effectively.

The man had reminded him very much of Gaius the physician. Looked similar to him as well. Perhaps, Arthur thought, Gaius had been this man's ancestor. Certainly the court physician hadn't spent all of his days alone, before or after his beloved Alice.

Arthur followed his servant through the room, giving small nods here and there to the young men and women who openly stared at him, some of their mouths hanging open in awe or disbelief. One young lady with a crown of flowers and long, shockingly bright blond hair waved at him with a dreamy smile that lit up her eyes. He couldn't help but return her smile.

The walk across the dining hall was soon over as Merlin stopped to pull out a chair for him, beside the old woman. He sat and Merlin sat to his other side.

Guy leaned forward, smiling at him. _"Your majesty, it is good to see you up and about."_

"You can talk normally, Guy. One of the students made a thing for him. Translates what we say for him, and what he says for us."

"Oh that certainly makes things much easier. Very clever."

"I thought so," Merlin said before reaching out to snatch up a tart from a tray on the table. "You wanted to eat in here, so eat up," he said.

Throughout their meal, Arthur hadn't spoken much except to introduce himself to the old woman on his right and to thank her for her hospitality. He answered some questions posed to him, but deferred to Merlin for most conversation. Merlin spoke very passionately and cheerfully in a way he suspected the man's colleagues had not seen him before. Or if they had, then it could not have been often.

He tuned Merlin and the others out after a while, finding that to follow the conversation had become difficult despite the odd necklace the warlock had given him. Instead he watched the dining hall with great interest. During his lifetime - his first lifetime - to watch such open displays of magic was unheard of. From a young age he had been taught that magic was evil. It corrupted any who dared consider using it. Magic was a thing to be feared and abhorred. A cancer in the kingdom that needed to be purged. And yet...

He glanced at Merlin beside him, having turned to another conversation with another of the women at their table. Since meeting Merlin, Arthur reflected, magic had become a part of his life. He had not known it then, nor for many long years of friendship, but Merlin had used magic to help him. To save him and their friends time and again. He had defied his father and his ideologies - resorting to magic a time or two himself (and again, he had not known that it was Merlin who was to be praised afterward) in order to restore order and peace. Having turned to magic to restore his wife's right mind, he had felt like a hypocrite. Breaking the laws of his own kingdom - unjust though they were - they were the law. And no king, no matter how good and just, was above the law.

And yet it was magic that had saved his own life now. Magic that had protected him for all this time after his great battle against Morgana and the Saxons. Magic that was open and free, used by children in this very room with him. Glowing butterflies flitting through the air. Floating pitchers refilling goblets and treats finding their own way to plates on the other tables.

He pushed away from the table, his chair scraping the stone floor. Merlin turned to him, question in his bright blue eyes. "I... Excuse me," Arthur said quietly. "You were right, I should have been resting."

"Sire?" Merlin made to stand, but Arthur put a hand on his shoulder.

"No, you stay. I think I can find my way back to my rooms."

Merlin narrowed his eyes at him, trying to hide his concern and failing miserably. "Are you sure? I mean, you got lost the first time and that was even following me."

"Anyone would get lost following you. You've never had a good sense of direction, Merlin," Arthur replied as he got to his feet. "I'll be fine without you for one more evening."

"I'll come see you later," Merlin insisted.

Arthur gave him a curt nod, turning to the old woman with a kind smile. "My lady," he said, unsure how else to address her. "It was a pleasure to meet you."

"The honor is mine, your majesty," she replied with a slight nod towards him.

Arthur left them then, feeling the eyes of the room on him as he passed back through. His steps were careful and measured as he tried to control the mounting unease. He may have, with his dying breaths, accepted Merlin's magic. But that was because it was MERLIN. This... this strange world he had come into was too much too soon. He was restless and uncertain of his place in it. Before long he found himself standing in the corridor with the suits of armor. His rooms were not far, he knew. But this...

Before he could stop himself he had moved to stand before one of them. Metal gleaming in firelight of the wall sconces. He knew every detail of this armor. And, he suspected, the other eleven. He reached out and touched the shield, fingers brushing over a gouge in the ancient wood, the scratched red and gold of the Pendragon colors.

"Mr. Merlin brought them to life once. It was... It was a terrible night. We lost some friends," said a dreamy voice from nearby. He turned his head to see the blond girl with the crown of flowers from the dining hall. Had she followed him? She stood in front of another set of armor, near identical to this one save for some intricate detail work on the breastplate. "This one was Sir Galahad's," she said. "That one was Sir Leon's."

"Who was Galahad? There's a painting... I think it was a painting-"

"He was an apprentice of the Court Sorcerer of Camelot."

"What?"

She smiled at him. "I thought you would be much taller," she said, changing the subject. "And a little less handsome."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome," she said. "Magic isn't bad or evil. It's the person and how they use it. Like a sword or a potion. I know it's a lot to take in. But the whole world isn't like this."

"It isn't?"

"Nope. Not... not everyone can accept it. So we hide."

"After all these years, magic still isn't accepted? Merlin said Gwen- Queen Guinevere repealed the ban. Magic was brought back to Albion."

She nodded. "It was. But people get scared of things they don't understand. The people who can't do magic were scared." She shrugged as if none of what she said bothered her. "It's okay. Magic will be free again soon, now that you've come."

"What could I have to do with any of this?" Arthur asked her, his hand making a sweeping gesture of the corridor. "I'm not like the rest of you. I have no magic of my own. I am still coming to terms with magic being used for the good of others rather than to maim and kill. And I've been dead for a very long time."

Her smile was kind, and it reminded him of Gwen so very much. Of the time before they were married, before he was king. Sweet kindness. Warmth and affection. The smiles of easy friendship with nothing more hidden behind them. The girl shrugged. "Mr. Merlin helped you build your kingdom. Maybe now you have to help him free his." Despite her shrug, her words were so clear. So certain and sure.

A voice called out to the girl from the end of the corridor, calling her Luna. Arthur gave a nod in the direction the summons had come from. "Thank you, Miss Luna. I'll think about what you have said."

When she had gone, Arthur turned his attention back to the suits of armor before retiring to his chambers. He divested himself of the borrowed shoes, trainers Guy had called them, and the shirt Merlin had magicked up for him before sitting on his bed. He left the pendant Merlin had given him on, taking it between his fingers and admiring the blue glass as he tried to put his thoughts into order.

The day had been long, and though he had not done much it had been rather tiring so soon after having returned from the dead. As Arthur looked around his room once again, taking in the sight of familiar, comforting pieces of his old life, he genuinely worked the young girl's words over in his mind.

Camelot had flourished after his death. Had thrived. But it could not have done so without Merlin. Though his reign was not perfect, it was still a much more peaceful time than his father's. He had begun to make the changes necessary for them to move forward and away from Uther's unjust and bigoted ways. The foundations upon which Gwen's Camelot stood were built with the blood and sweat of Arthur's reign - paid for with Merlin's devotion and Arthur's very life. Had it not been for the worst manservant in the five kingdoms, Arthur never could have begun the changes needed for Gwen to carry their kingdom into a golden age.

Yes - Merlin had helped him to build up his kingdom, and carried the weight of it without him for so many years after. Though things had not turned out as they had hoped, Arthur had still brought the five kingdoms together under a single banner. Under a single crown. He just wasn't the one to be wearing it at the time. He had died before seeing it happen. And now he wasn't dead.

He was alive and breathing, though still a bit sore in the general region where Mordred had bloody stabbed him. And the world into which he had arrived was not his. It was a world of magic and sorcery. Where were the average people? The ones like himself who could command no magic? The girl had said the world wasn't like this. Not all of it. Perhaps it was only Albion then, that had magic. Hidden away from people like him, who were possibly more akin to Uther in their views and beliefs.

If this was Merlin's kingdom, and he were the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth still, then why hide in some old castle? Surrounded by children and a few old witches and wizards? Why was he not out among his people, leading them by example like he had driven Arthur to do so many times in the past?

Arthur sighed, falling back against the soft blankets, his legs dangling off the side of it as he stared up into the canopy of the bed. Was he here only to hold Merlin's hand and show him how to be a good king? The irony was not lost on him, as it was Merlin who had essentially done the same for him for years.

When the door opened, he lifted his head just enough to see that it was Merlin letting himself in. The lanky man stooped down briefly to pick up a bag that had been left there, presumably by the old warlock, earlier in the evening while Arthur was out.

"You know, there is such a thing as knocking. You should try it sometime." He let his head fall back onto the blankets with a sigh.

"Don't be a prat," Merlin said as he crossed the room, towards the sideboard with Arthur's rusted armor. But Arthur's next words stopped him half-way there.

"I died, Merlin. I think that's earned me the right to be a prat if I want to."

It was only for a moment, the pause in the other man's movements before he finished crossing the room.

"Sorry," Arthur said softly, realizing his poor choice of words as Merlin began arranging the pieces of armor. He listened as Merlin inspected each piece by hand, then pulled up a chair and began removing the contents of his bag. "You don't have to do that," Arthur said after a while when it was clear Merlin had begun trying to clean the dirt and the rust off by hand rather than using his magic.

"I need to," Merlin replied quietly. "You must have the worst servant in the world, letting it get into this state."

"Well, a thousand years at the bottom of a lake will do that."

"I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was."

"Merlin-"

"Let's not do this right now, Arthur," he mumbled back, then changed the subject before Arthur could say anything more. "So, you met Harry then."

Arthur sighed, pushed himself up on his elbows, and turned his body towards Merlin some. "Which one was he?"

"The one with the stick. The other one was Ronny or Ron or something. There's too many children running around here I can't keep track of all their names."

Arthur chuckled. "Well... I got bored and decided to take a walk. Couldn't understand a word anyone said. Saxon is a very odd tongue."

"It's called English."

"Yes, I just said that."

Merlin laughed softly. "Anyway, you were saying?"

Arthur was happy to have the mood lightened even though there was much he knew his friend was still keeping from him. He recounted his afternoon wandering the grounds, trying to get someone to tell him where Merlin had gone before storming outside in frustration. He believed a walk would help calm him, as it often did on his more stressful days as Crown Prince, then again as King. How he'd soon found himself drawn to the lake - the one where he had been resting all this time. Merlin continued to scrub and scrape at the rust and the dried mud on the armor, setting the pieces aside for a more thorough polishing and cleaning once he had completed each one. Arthur had initially picked up a stick to poke at the water, something to relieve his frustration and tension. He'd decided after a bit to swing it around. See how rusty he had become, see if his reflexes had been affected. And that was how Harry and his friend had come upon him. Moving through drills with a stick by the lake.

They had watched him, talking between themselves a while before Arthur had found another stick, offering it to Harry. Arthur said it had been awkward, trying to ask him if he wanted to practice with him without being able to use his words. But eventually the message got through. He let the conversation taper off to a natural end, watching Merlin work on his armor at the sideboard a while.

"Your turn," Arthur said after some time. "Tell me more about Gwen's Camelot. Who was Galahad?"

"Sir Galahad," Merlin said with a long suffering sigh. "Was a pain in my arse for a very long time but he was the finest swordsman since you and Lancelot."

"That painting from earlier... was that him? Is his soul trapped inside?"

"No. Not really. The paintings are more of... an echo of a person or a place. A memory given voice and a limited movement. They were created by a very foolish and very rebellious sorcerer who was very drunk at the time."

"It was you, wasn't it?"

"I never said that."

" _Mer_ lin-"

"It wasn't me. It was Galahad who invented the spell to create the living paintings. The first one he ever made was of his mother in Mercia. Who spoke at great length about how much she loathed Galahad's father, and continuously chided him about how much he drank."

Arthur stared at him, frowning. "He was a knight with magic?"

"Yes Arthur. Sorcerers were allowed to become knights after the ban was lifted. I trained them myself. Galahad was my first apprentice. I found him in Nemeth using magic to pick my pockets. The royal family had requested my help with a delicate matter of magic," Merlin said as his explanation for even being in Nemeth in the first place. "He was fourteen, half-starved, and despite his ill uses for his magic I could tell he had potential. It wasn't until I got him back to Camelot and found him in a tavern drinking Percival under the table that I realized he might have been one of Gawain's many, many bastards."

Arthur seemed to choke on air as Merlin laughed. "Leon trained him as a squire, then a knight. I trained him in the ways of magic and medicine." The joy in his voice seemed to fade now, as if a weight settled on his shoulders once again while he worked. "Sir Galahad was so much like his father. When he heard I assaulted the new king after Gwen's passing he thought nothing of grabbing his sword one more time and riding out of Camelot with me. He was forty-six when Constantine's men caught up with us. He bought us time to cross the border into Essetir. With Cenred long dead, the lands were safe for the druids and magic users again." Merlin sighed. "I went back after it was safe. I couldn't leave him out there. We held a druid rite for him. They kept his armor in honor of what he did to save them."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. If I can't be sorry for failing to save your life, then you can't be sorry for this. He lived a long life. Longer than most. He was brave, and compassionate. It took him a while to straighten himself out but when he got there before the end, there was no one in those days that I'd rather have watch my back. Unlike the rest of the knights at the time, he still valued honor and loyalty rather than the gold in his pouch." Merlin's next laugh was warmer, a little more genuine. And Arthur was glad to hear it. "It also didn't help that at the time I was a very old man with brittle bones and aching joints and he sort of felt obligated to keep an eye on me so I didn't break my hip when we ran."

"Why in God's name were you disguised as Dragoon?! You didn't need to hide who you were anymore!"

"I wasn't in disguise. I was really that old," Merlin said, putting down a gauntlet and turning in his chair to face Arthur. "You didn't think I stayed this handsome forever, did you?"

"It's magic, Merlin. I don't know what to expect or think. This is your domain, not mine." Arthur said, sitting with his hands in his lap. "How does this work then? Do you live a life and then die, and return like I have or is your soul-"

"I don't want to talk about this right now."

" _Mer_ lin."

"Arthur, please," he said, eyes pleading with him to just drop it for now. Arthur sighed, and gave a nod of assent.

"But," Arthur said. "We will come back to this. I want to know all that you have endured for my sake."

"You don't. You really, really don't."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Personally, I really like the idea of Luna calling him Mr. Merlin and it makes me giggle every time I read it and hear it in Evanna Lynch's voice.
> 
> I chose Galahad because after searching the Merlin wiki, I couldn't see that the character was ever used on the show, so he'd make a good friend for Merlin's time in Camelot after Arthur. In the original legends he was often called "Galahad the Pure" and was one of the Grail Knights. In some versions he was just another knight and in others he was Lancelot's son from before he hooked up with Guinevere. Since the show basically took a lot of the legends and turned them on their heads, I thought I'd do the same with Galahad. And since Gawain was often found in the taverns and had quite an adventurous life before and during his time as a knight of Camelot well... it just kinda made sense that he'd have a lot of bastards out there that he probably didn't know about.


	9. The One-Armed Apprentice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, chapters with a title are going to be Harry and/or Draco-centric.

 

Draco wasn't sure what he had expected upon watching King Arthur, in full armor, being dragged to the lake shore a week prior. He was certain, however, that it was not to watch the king and the legendary Prince of Enchanters shouting at one another, slamming doors in frustration and anger in each other's faces, and generally fighting like an old married couple.

Certainly he had not expected the great and powerful Merlin to hide in the potion master's workshop, "not pouting" and generally complaining about his best friend, the King. When the first week began to bleed into the second, he couldn't take it anymore. He had split his time between his apprenticeship, his independent studies since he no longer attended classes, helping Potter with his bloody research into proving Merlin's identity to the Ministry, and retraining his one remaining arm to become his dominant wand arm.

So when he'd ruined cutting the flobberworms for the fifth time in a row since Merlin had come in that evening to complain about King Arthur's insistence that he train his fighting skills in the gardens because they never knew when there would be another attack, even though the attack would be magical rather than physical so Arthur would be useless in a fight, Draco just couldn't take it. He stabbed his knife into the cutting board beside the cauldron and turned a heated glare on the ancient magician and the potions master to whom he complained.

"Will you PLEASE just SHUT UP! It's hard enough to focus on cutting exact measurements with only ONE hand. But having to listen to your insipid lover's quarrels day after day it's a wonder we get anything done at all in here!"

"I'm not- He's not-"

"For the love of... you're worse than Potter and his Weaslet fiance," Draco snapped, then pinched between his brows with a sigh far too heavy for one so young. "In case you've forgotten, oh great and powerful Emrys, your ancient enemy forced her way into the mortal realm through my best friend and enslaved many more personal friends of mine, as well as their families, and likely my own. She is out there, right now, burning muggle villages to the ground and terrorizing our people. King Arthur has risen for a purpose, and I'm certain that purpose is connected to Morgana La Fey." He let his hand fall back to his side, and shot Merlin a hard stare.

"Whatever personal issues you are having with the King right now need to be dealt with swiftly so we can move on to more important matters. Our world is still weak and barely had time to recover from the horrors Voldemort inflicted on us. We need you to work together because my people will not be able to get through another war so soon on their own. We barely escaped that last one with our lives."

The ancient magician of legend looked from Draco to Guy, then back again with a hard frown before sliding off the table he'd been sitting on to complain.

The two men spoke to one another, Merlin deliberately using the language he spoke with Arthur so that Draco wouldn't understand him. It was something he'd noticed the warlock did when someone pointed out he was wrong. And it had been happening more often over the past week. Draco was given another frown before Merlin turned to leave them. But Draco wasn't quite done chastising him just yet.

"Look, I'm sorry. I spoke out of turn. But you know I'm right. As much as you want to protect him, you can't fight destiny. He was meant to come back when he was needed most, and that time is now. He was meant to fight Mordred and survive that battle, live a long and prosperous life building Camelot into a shining beacon to last the centuries. He was meant to die an old man and be reborn when he was needed again. But instead you chose to fight destiny and look where it has gotten the both of you. Have you learned nothing from your mistakes, old man? By working against destiny, his fate and your own were twisted and mangled, and now here we are. A school full of child soldiers, a handful of war heroes all under the age of 20, a one handed criminal who should be in prison, a reincarnated court physician, the most powerful historical figure in all of magical history, and the fabled muggle King of Camelot himself. Somehow the threads of fate have brought us all together here by the shores of Avalon. Unless you sort yourselves out then the great destiny you've yet to fulfill will be moot and Morgana La Fey will kill us all because you couldn't, to use a muggle expression, 'man-up' and tell the idiot how desperately in love with him you are."

Draco could feel his eyebrows rise as he continued to stare at the ancient man. Merlin glared at him, mumbled something under his breath that Draco couldn't hope to understand, and stormed off.

When the door slammed behind him, Guy turned to his apprentice with an exasperated sigh. "My boy, do you know what you've just done?"

"Honestly? I really don't care. He could rain hellfire from the skies if he likes. As long as he lets me cut these flobberworms in peace and quiet."

At this the old potion master laughed, picking up the parchments he had been reading before Merlin had burst in to start his daily round of complaints. "I haven't seen anyone scold him like that since his mother came to visit for his court appointment ceremony."

"Well," Draco said, holding the cutting board in place with his stump so that his hand could grasp the knife and work it back out of the wood. "If less people worshiped the ground he walked on and stopped kissing his backside he might actually turn out to be a half-decent wizard after all."

"You sound like you speak from experience."

"Yes... Well... Potter and his friends certainly made an art of reminding me I was just as flawed as they were despite my higher status in society."

Guy shook his head behind him as Draco went back to work. "That wasn't what I meant, my boy."

Draco squared his shoulders, letting the hard edge back into his voice as he returned to his task of cutting the flobberworms. "Not all of us are as fortunate enough to get a second chance." Satisfied that the pieces of worm were cut evenly and correctly, he dropped them into his cauldron and stirred, counting in his head each turn of the silver rod before adding two pinches of powdered newt kidney.

Guy watched his apprentice for the remainder of the evening as the young man went from cauldron to cauldron, reading through the recipes and carefully working through the ingredients. He helped when it was obvious two hands would be necessary, but other than that allowed him to work in peace.

The pair of them were ladling out samples to test the batches Draco had made. Healing potions and sleeping draughts, nothing too advanced, when the door to the workroom burst open.

"Malfoy! There you are!" Hermione exclaimed as she came in, Harry and a few others of their friends filing in behind her. "When you didn't come to the library we thought, correctly, that you were still working."

"Apologies, Granger," he said, forcing himself to maintain a sense of calm. "I lost track of time. We were just about to test-"

"Clearly you're wanted elsewhere, Draco."

"But-"

"I'm sure you've done a fine job. I'll test them myself. You go on with your friends."

"They're not my f-"

"Peers then," Guy said. "If I need your help, I will send for you. Go on."

"I-" Draco glanced to the others gathered by the door. "Fine. But you will send for me?"

"IF you are needed."

He went to the corner where he kept his bag, pulling the strap up over his head and holding the flap open with his stump so he could load it with his parchments and study texts. He soon followed them back out into the corridor, Hermione chattering excitedly with Ginny and Ron about some book she'd gotten from Merlin. He followed them, focusing on his footsteps and his breathing rather than the conversations going on around him. Since agreeing to help Harry with the project of proving Merlin's identity, he had been forced to endure the company of Harry's friends.

Granger was tolerable, so long as they kept conversation light and to the research. The Weasels remained civil as long as he kept his insults where they could not hear them. On occasions when Lovegood would accompany them, she at least made an effort to be happy to see him. Always greeting him kindly and like a friend despite the fact she'd been locked in his family's dungeon. Longbottom wasn't as bad as he had been expecting. There was a level of respect, but it only went as far as his skill with herbs and potions. And he knew it would last only as long as Harry's truce with him. As long as Draco could continue to be useful to them.

And wasn't that a kick in the pants.

"-you think, Malfoy?"

He was shaken from his thoughts, finding that they hadn't gone to the library as he had expected, but rather to the student residences. Draco, no longer a student, held rooms at the opposite end of the castle. He was closer to the work rooms and to the professors. Given what had happened, he was much safer there with a room in Merlin's tower.

"What was the question?" Draco asked, blinking at them.

"I told you he wasn't paying attention," Ginny mumbled. Draco bit his tongue.

"Sorry," he said, hating the fact that he always felt like he had to apologize to the heroes of Hogwarts. "I was thinking of a complicated potion I found today and was trying to rework the recipe in my head to allow for substitutions and enhancements before I attempt it for my practical exam next week." It was a lie, of course. He'd already done the practical exam, and Guy had praised him for his inventiveness with substituting komodo dragon scales in place of cobra skin. It had increased the potency and extended the shelf life of the potion without sacrificing brewing time. As a result, he had been presented with the next level of potions books to study, and a text on obscure magical diseases of India and the far east.

Hermione sighed. "I asked if you think presenting one copy of the pureblood ledger will be enough or if we will need two for corroboration."

"One should be enough. Nearly every book is identical save for how many generations back into a house it goes."

As he spoke, Neville let them into the room he shared with Seamus Finnegan. He apologized for the mess, and indicated the stack of books on a table in the center of the room. The same books Draco had helped them pour over since their arrival half a week previous.

They each took a book and found a place to sit. Draco settled at the now cleared table with the intention of taking out a book to study. Instead, Hermione pulled out the chair beside him and set the book she'd chosen on the table between them. He raised an eyebrow and looked at her, then the crest on the cover of the book. The Black Family.

"It's your family, too," she said with a shrug. "You might be able to sort through it a little easier than me. If we work together, we might get through it faster."

He could see her point, and nodded his agreement. Together the two of them poured over the text. Due to the nature of it, they had to work through the pages in the back first to locate the correct branch of names where they had each left off the last time they had looked at the book individually.

"It's a little weird watching the words fill in on the page sometimes," Hermione commented after a while, scribbling a few names on the parchment she had unrolled beside the book. She was listing names, crossing out ones where branches of the family ended or diverted into another pureblood family entirely.

"It's unsettling how many pureblood families claimed purity of lineage yet the evidence here tells otherwise," Draco said, pointing out a name from the seventeen hundreds. A woman who had married a centaur. "My copy was less riddled with beasts. A handful of half-bloods from respectable backgrounds to keep from inbreeding. But these... my word. I had no idea mother's family was so... so..."

"Backwards?" Hermione supplied. Draco nodded as he turned a few pages of cousins and siblings who were also husbands and wives. It turned his stomach to learn of his true Black ancestry. Though now with so few of them left and the male lines of the family having died out with the death of Sirius Black... "Historically," Hermione said. "That period of time in human history was violent towards magic users. They probably had to marry one another in order to keep their magic within their families and secret. Imagine having to spend your entire life in hiding and fear, and the only people who could ever know about you were your family. Also living in fear. It couldn't have been easy."

Draco had to agree. Looking at it from that perspective made more sense than just trying to keep magic pure and hoard it within the elite.

"I think we have something!" Ginny exclaimed. "What was the daughter's name again? Io?"

"Iolanthe," Draco said as Ginny rushed to the table with Harry close by. The Potter ledger was slammed down, her delicate fingers skimming the page before she found the name again. Draco stood so he could get a better look at the page.

In fine, sweeping script was the name. "She married a Potter?"

"Not just a Potter. She married the eldest son of the First Potter, Linfred of Stinchcombe. But look at this!" she said excitedly, tapping her wand to the page and giving the incantation her mother had told them about in the letter that came with their copies of the books. At first there were sparks, followed by a bead of light. It exploded upward, leaves containing names and vines woven throughout. Iolanthe's name was on a vine near the trunk of the tree. Twisting around a leaf bearing the name Hardwin Potter.

Draco knew what to do to access more information. He'd seen his mother do it often enough in his lessons on heritage and genealogy. Reaching out, he gently touched the leave with Iolanthe's name, and along the stem of it sprouted two more names. Icarius Peverell and Prudence Goodweather.

"I don't understand. He should be listed here," Draco said.

"Maybe he called himself Prudence," Ron said jokingly.

"No. It gives true names. You cannot lie about your name in these ledgers."

Harry stared at the glowing tree made of pinpricks of light. He chewed his lip in thought. "Draco," he said, drawing the name out slowly. "That thing you did with Iolanthe's name. Can you do it to Icarius's as well? Can you sort of single it out and make it larger so we can get a better look at it?"

"It's the Potter book, not the Peverell. I don't think I'll be able to pull much more out."

"I'm not so sure," Harry said, pointing to the numerous pages filling the front half of the book. "It may be the Potter book now, but if this Linfred guy was my family's founder, shouldn't this be closer to the start of the ledger?"

"What do you mean?"

"What happens in the pureblood houses when a family name dies out?"

Draco considered this a moment, but it was Hermione that answered. "The lordship is absorbed by the eldest living blood relative. Why?"

"Ignotus had a son who he passed the cloak to. That much is in the story. The family name died out not long after and that's why they were considered just a story for so long. His son was the last in his line and the cloak went to a daughter. That's how it got into my family. Draco said the books update themselves automatically. The Peverells died out in the male lines, but not the women. Voldemort's mother was from the Gaunt family. The eldest brother didn't marry and left no kids. The middle brother had a fiance or a wife, but he had kids at some point. They had the resurrection stone. When I killed Voldemort, the last of that brother's line, what happens then?"

Draco gaped at him, and Ron gripped Harry's shoulder. "...The lordship of Peverell passes to you, the last blood descendant of the youngest brother. You think when Voldemort died, your copy of the ledger updated to include the entirety of the Peverell family history?"

Armed with this knew information, Draco indicated that Harry should be the one to look. The magic of the book would react much better than it would for him. He had Harry end the spell that showed them the Potter tree and moved back through the ledger, searching it again for the name of Iolanthe Peverell. When at last it was found, with a quarter of the book left to go, it was Harry that gave the incantation to summon the tree forth. At the base, the trunk had been emblazoned with the name Ignotus.

"It will be easier to find the vines of marriage the farther back we go," Draco explained. Quickly they found Iolanthe again, this time on her own leaf of the tree with a bit of blue vine wrapped around the stem connecting her to the branch. The blue vine itself had been connected to her mother, Prudence Goodweather.

"This is different from before..."

"What does the color mean?" Hermione asked, scratching out notes as she watched.

"Death in child-bed," Draco said seriously. "She must have died giving birth to her daughter."

Harry frowned, leaning forward to examine the branch a little closer. "There's something here," he said, catching a glint of gold against the glowing green. It was hard to spot, but once he had... "Right here. Look."

Ginny crowded in to have a peek, following the gold vine to the name of Icarius Peverell. Harry reached out with his fingers, brushing the magical leaf made of light and rubbing his thumb against it before using his fingers to feel around to the stem. Woven there with the blue was gold. And a small, glittering golden leaf. "Runes," he said in surprise.

"Honestly Potter. The man comes from a time where they spoke something older than even proto-English. Did you really expect to find his name written in our language and not his own?" Draco chided. He turned to Hermione. "Can you decipher these?"

"Druidic runes. I'm a little rusty but I could try." She copied down the runes onto the parchment, glancing up to make sure she had it down correctly before rolling it up. "I imagine it might just be his druid name, but it's better than nothing. If they do a blood inheritance spell, they'll at least be able to trace it back this far. The fact it's in another language will help lend credibility that he is whom he says he is. But he should take the Goblin Box with him, just in case. If the Goblins know where it came from, just that knowledge alone might be enough to support his claims."

The hard part of their work completed at last, the students turned their attentions to their homework and studies. Draco stayed only a little longer, feeling out of place amidst the talk of classes, families, and friendly chatter. He took his leave of the group of friends. He was polite, though it grated on him to show Ron and Ginny anything other than his personal displeasure at their company. Having bid them goodnight, Draco made haste to get to the kitchens, searching for anything he could take back to his rooms for a late night snack as he studied the magic resistant flesh eating diseases that rampaged across Mongolia in the late sixteenth century.

That was, however, his intent. When he had slipped into his room and took his bag off to set it by his desk, he found a strange and ornate object sitting on a folded square of green and silver cloth. Light from the lantern sitting nearby bounced off the ornately carved metal surface. A small note was folded, and tucked between two of the fingers of the false hand. His name scrawled hastily on one side.

He read through the note, smirking as he deciphered the terrible handwriting before casting it aside. He examined the object, spotting runes similar to those they had seen on the golden leaf in the ledger. He recognized some of the spiral patterns from the books in the potion master's workroom. Ancient symbols of protection and power. He traced a finger across the cool metal, enjoying the sensation of the grooves so carefully etched and carved into it. Holding it up in his one hand, he did not expect it to be as heavy as it was. On one end was a brace of some sort. Hardened leather that felt like dragon-hide. Lined inside with a soft, supple blue fabric. Buckles attached it with more dragon-hide strapping to the object where the straps were fed into small, thin holes.

Once he had completed his inspection of it, he referred to the note again at last to re-read through the instructions. It took two tries before he was able to correctly line it up on his stump and fit the brace snug enough above his elbow. He admired how the false limb cupped his stump. It was unusual, but not entirely uncomfortable. It would take some getting used to. The metal seemed to blend seamlessly against flesh, the change in material and color the only difference with how snugly it fit against him. The weight of it changed his center of balance. After attempting to cast a lightening charm upon it, the charm had rebounded into his inkwell, causing it and his quill to float off the desk.

"It is impervious," he said aloud to the empty room as he poked at the fingers of it with his wand. A faint, phantom sensation twinged, shooting up through his arm and sending the sensation to his brain. Fascination and wonder consumed Draco that night as he poked and prodded at his new limb, experimenting with it and causing quite a few broken quills and splintered boards. He stayed up all night, attempting to use the arm to cast spells only to find them falling flat.

Draco's head never met his pillow that night, and when the sun came up he was still dressed in his rumpled clothes from the day before. He couldn't wait to show it to Guy, and to apologize to Merlin for his outburst the day before.

He had paced his room, grabbing things at random for the simple sake that he could once again do so. Holding things in two hands. Tossing objects from one hand to the other (with a bit of practice, as the weight of his new limb did cause some reflex delay) because he hadn't realized how much he had missed doing it. By the time the sun had risen, and there were stirrings in the castle of students shuffling about towards the start of their days, Draco gathered his things and descended Merlin's tower. When he reached the base and stepped out into the corridor, he was greeted by Blaise who had apparently been sent to fetch him.

"You have to come quick. Everyone's been called to the dining hall."

"What's the matter?"

"Something's happened. The floo network's closed completely. Come on!"

Draco tightened his bag, running after his friend down the long corridor towards the main hall. They were soon joined by Harry and Ron, and with them crowded along with the other students into the dining hall. Draco looked around, locating Guy and pushing his way through to join his side. After all, he was his apprentice. That's where he belonged. Not with the other students. Not with the heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts.

"What's going on?" he whispered to his master.

Guy frowned. "The dark mark was seen above the ministry of magic this morning. Magic has been exposed. That's all I know so far."

"Where's Merlin? And the King?"

"Consulting the Lady of the Lake. They left as soon as Minerva received word at daybreak."

Professor McGonogall stood before the head table, raising her arms and calling for silence. When that did not work she put her wand to her throat and amplified her voice, and called once more for silence. Draco glanced around, and it was then he began to notice the others. More faces. Older and younger than what he had grown accustomed to since last September. Some solemn, others absolutely frightened. He spotted a large swath of red in a nearby corner. The Weasley clan. He would recognize them anywhere. Dotted here and there were others he recalled seeing at the final battle. Just before Harry had revealed that he was, in fact, still alive after Hagrid had been forced to carry him out of the forest.

The Order of the Phoenix, or rather, what remained of it, had come. Even Draco knew enough to recognize it did not bode well.

"At daybreak, the Ministry of Magic in London was attacked in full view of muggles. The magic that has held our worlds apart for centuries has fallen, and they are now able to see through the enchantments that have protected us for so long. Across the United Kingdom the barriers between our world and the muggle world have broken and we are exposed. If this is an isolated incident or world wide, we do not yet know. Many have been advised to flee to the countryside and avoid major cities. I have spoken with our host, and he has opened his doors to any who may seek safety here, muggle or magical. Already many have taken him up on this generous offer." She paused, allowing her words to wash over everyone in the hall, letting them absorb what she had said before she continued.

"I will not coddle you with half truths. All of you have been through far too much already to be treated like children. Where the Ministry stood is now rubble. The attack began from within and were followers of Morgana La Fey. They fought their way to the depths of the Department of Mysteries and stole powerful relics of Old Magic including an object known only as The Veil."

Draco scanned the room, searching out Harry and his friends. He remembered their fifth year. The year his aunt had killed her cousin. The year his own father had failed the Dark Lord and was placed in Azkaban for a time. When he caught sight of Harry, the other boy's green eyes were hard. He stared straight ahead. Cold. Reserved. Around him his friends were speaking in hushed voices to one another.

"London has been sealed into a quarantine. None may enter and none may leave. What this means for magical and muggle government... we do not know."

The dining hall erupted into a chorus of outcry as Draco staggered back, turning to brace himself against a pillar. The room felt as if it were spinning. His breathing became labored and he felt the panic rising within him. The same panic he felt when his aunt had realized he wasn't going to raise his wand to kill. The same panic that had seized hold of him when he felt the first sting of the Cruciatis after he had refused to bow to the monster that had invaded his home. He tasted the bile in his throat and the coppery taste of blood on his tongue; he could smell the smoke and feel the heat of flames on his back as he clung for dear life. The scents and tastes of battle and war. "I can't.... I need to leave."

He looked around for an exit, any exit and hurried towards it. Guy called out for him to come back, starting to follow him, but Draco was the faster. He ran down a back corridor and outside into the bright light of the sun. Once he felt the light on his face, and smelled the crisp spring morning air, he fell to his knees, hugged his gut, and hurled the contents of his late night snacks up into the grass.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dialogue Italics = language spoken in Albion and Camelot_

 

Merlin had been so angry with the pointy faced, one armed, obstinate little shit.

And after hiding himself in his private library for a bit, avoiding Arthur mostly, he had to admit the git was right in some respects. But only just, and in only some. He'd completed his work that evening after storming out of the potions work room, and had left it, with a note for Draco to find later.

When he had finally decided to give up and go crawl into his bed - and yes he would certainly be talking to Arthur tomorrow and apologizing for the fight they'd had which had led ultimately to the wizard a mere fraction of a fraction of his age to give him a thorough scolding - he was not prepared to open the door to his chambers and find Arthur sitting at his table, poking in boredom at a bolt of green and silver cloth he'd left sitting out that morning. A glance told him Arthur wasn't wearing his pendant. Great... he had to put extra thought and effort into it then.

_"If you've come to fight some more, you'll have to carry on without me. I'm exhausted and-"_

_"I was starting to think you were avoiding me."_

_"Of course I was,"_ he muttered as he shut the door, taking the moment to look away and draw in a deep breath. When he turned back to face his old friend, it was a hard expression that made his face. _"Why are you in my rooms?"_

_"I wanted to come apologize."_

_"Oh it really is the end of the world then. The great Arthur Pendragon, apologizing to his servant."_

Arthur sighed in exasperation, scooting the chair a little so that he could lean a little against the table, but still be turned towards Merlin. To see him, scruffy and bearded and all his miserly glory. _"Yes,"_ he said simply. _"Sometimes I forget I have no power here, least of all over you."_

_"Arthur-"_

_"You have been patient with me as I acclimate to this new world. But I've also been growing frustrated and restless. Your prophecy said I would be brought back to the world when I was needed. But you won't tell me anything. All I get are snatches of conversations around the castle. Children are talking about having fought in a war Merlin. Many of them are afraid of doing so again. What kind of horror is worse than one that's already caused children to fight for their lives? Is it magical or can I bash it with a sword?"_

_"There is no more Albion, not really. No Camelot. All that's left of us are myths. I don't know-"_ His words were cut off as Arthur slammed his fist on the table, causing the candelabra in the center to fall over, dripping wax on the bolt of fabric but not, thankfully, catching it on fire.

 _"Do not lie to me,_ Merl _in!"_ Arthur shouted, then realized the anger in his words and stripped it back, forcing himself to be calm. " _I thought we left that behind us with my death. No more lies between us. We are all one another has now."_

Merlin chewed his lip before moving to his wardrobe. He opened it and procured two glasses and a bottle. Silently he joined Arthur at the table, used his teeth to pull the stopper from the bottle, and poured two drinks. Using magic, he slid one before Arthur, and then snatched up the other in his hand. _"Drink it in one swallow, and do it quickly. It burns quite a lot on the way down."_ To demonstrate, he tossed his head back and tipped the glass into his mouth, swallowing quickly. When the glass was slammed down on the table, and Merlin's face was locked in a grimace at the taste. Arthur eyed the glass in front of him suspiciously before picking it up and doing as Merlin had done with his own taste of the amber liquid.

Arthur nearly choked on it, but managed to swallow it down. Like Merlin, he slammed the glass down, and when he opened his eyes he saw Merlin pouring himself another glass. He offered the bottle, but Arthur shook his head. When he found his voice again, hoarse from the burning in his throat, he had to ask, _"What WAS that? It feels like... It feels like I just swallowed a fireball, but that's impossible."_

Merlin cracked a sarcastic smile. _"A sorcerer invention. Firewhisky. Usually fatal to muggles - non magical people like you. But you're different. You're the exception. Not a muggle but not a squib either. Something new. Born FROM magi-"_

 _"You gave me a drink that kills most people and you didn't-"_ He watched as Merlin tossed his head back with another drink. His face when he looked back at Arthur again was less of a grimace this time and more of a distant melancholy. _"_ Mer _lin."_

He held the bottle, forgoing the glass now since Arthur wouldn't be having a second shot. He wrapped his lips around the bottle, took a long pull, and set it back down again. Merlin wiped at his mouth with the back of his arm, much like Gawain used to on his sloppy tavern nights.

_"Merlin, this isn't like you-"_

_"How would you know?"_

_"You're my best friend. We’ve spent nearly every day in one another’s company for ten years. We fight and we argue, but I know you. Perhaps better than I knew my own wife."_

Merlin spluttered, shaking his head and sitting back to drape an arm over the back of his chair. He looked so... uncaring. Unconcerned. Arthur wondered how quickly the effects of the drink had taken hold of his former manservant. Then again, it had been a well known fact that Merlin could never hold his drink. The lads had even made a game of how quickly they could get Merlin drunk because the boy had a fondness for rambling and telling people off in a strangely amusing way.

 _"You think so? You didn't even know I had magic until I told you. Until you were dying."_ Merlin's voice pulled Arthur back to the present moment. _"I've had entire lifetimes without you. You can't just tell someone not to ever change and expect them not to ever change, you prat. I had to do something to numb the pain and trust me there is no potion or poultice or spell on this earth that can do that better than drink. I've tried it all."_

_"I'm sorry."_

_**"I'm sorry,"**_ Merlin mocked. _" **I'm sorry.** It's all we keep saying. I hate it. Before all this lot showed up I was alone with my dragon and my castle and I was **fine**. I was getting along just fine. It hurt like hell, but I endured. **I had to.** I wasn't supposed to be like this."_ He drank a little more. _"I had your rooms ready for you. Kept them cleaner than myself more often than not. I knew you'd come, but I didn't know when. It was supposed to just be us in this drafty old place. Getting ready to fight some great injustice or leading the people through a second dark age like a shining beacon in the night. But no. You've only come back to finish what I failed to do right the first bloody time."_

Arthur bristled at Merlin's mocking tone, but it passed quickly when he realized the warlock's tone was more self-depreciating than mocking of his king.

Merlin stood, his movements jerky and angry as he took up the bottle again and crossed his room to the window. To the night and the mists and the lake around the Tor.

Arthur waited a few moments to let his old friend settle himself before rising from his own chair and going to him. He did not crowd his space, as the last time he'd done that Merlin had inadvertently lashed out with his magic. Though at the time Arthur shouldn't have come so close without announcing himself first, as Merlin had been absorbed in his work. He stopped, just out of arm's reach, but close enough that Merlin would know he was there, and hopefully find comfort in a presence the warlock had missed from his life for so long. _"Merlin, what has brought me back to Albion now?"_

Merlin drew a deep breath and clutched the neck of his bottle so tightly it began to crack, but did not fully break. The fractures of the glass were small, thin like spider silk. His voice was low, but still loud enough that Arthur could hear in it the man's dread and foreboding. _"Morgana's back."_

Arthur felt like the world had been ripped from beneath his feet. _"What?"_

_"It started with a war... Two wars actually. Started by a crazed maniac who wanted to rule the country, then the world, using magic. He was a master of the new ways. His power stemming from the self rather than from the elements. Many were killed on both sides. I did not know it then, but the seeds for Morgana's return were sown when he marked his followers with a symbol of the Old Religion."_

_"Why didn't you stop him? If what you've said of our destiny is to be believed, and given all that I have seen thus far I am inclined to do so, this evil sorcerer is nothing compared to your power. Why didn't you fight him and prevent him from starting a second war?"_

_"There was a prophecy-"_

_"Isn't there always,"_ Arthur grumbled, turning his back to Merlin and moving back towards the table. Merlin continued to speak behind him.

_"I learned a long time ago that trying to break a prophecy comes with a steep price. If I interfered, if I went to battle against this dark lord of magic, the price I would have to pay was too high. **Even for me.** I had to stay back and trust that destiny was going to play out as it should. And believe me, I hated it. Every second of it. I could feel it, crawling under my skin. The wrongness of his power. Each time he broke the natural order, I became ill. Once it was bad enough I lay bedridden for a week."_

Arthur put his hands on the table, clenching and unclenching his fists as he listened to Merlin, the man's words broken periodically and accompanied by the tell-tale swallow of the strange, magical fire-like liquor. _"No price is too high to pay in exchange for saving innocent lives, Merlin."_

The warlock scoffed, and Arthur could hear the tinkling of glass as the bottle was set down somewhere behind him. _"This one was."_

 _"I haven't been here long, but I can tell that your people look up to you. You're a leader here, a lord even. For all I know you're the king now. A king of magic. Leaders make sacrifices for the good of the people they serve, even if it costs their life. There is no price too high to pay for the protection and safety of your people. You taught me that, Merlin."_ Arthur turned back to face him when he felt himself being watched. _"What could be worth two wars and all the lives they've taken?"_

Merlin's long legs carried him quickly back to the table, to Arthur. _**"You idiot,"**_ Merlin growled angrily at him, the words both an insult and a confession. He raised a hand, half expecting the king to flinch in expectation of a slap - and oh did Merlin want to slap that face. The king of clotpoles had a very VERY slappable face - but no. Instead, he let his hand hover, just centimeters away from his cheek. Blue eyes focused on the same mouth that had spent so many mornings and days ordering him about and spouting off insults in what later became their usual, friendly banter. Catching himself, he took a step back and let his hand fall back to his side. _"Get out."_ Cheeks burning hot with too little self control and too much drink.

_"What?"_

_"I've had too much to drink. I need to sleep it off."_

_"No. I'm finally getting answers out of you."_

He glared at Arthur, too blue eyes ringed in molten gold. _"I said **GET OUT**!"_ he shouted, the last shreds of his restraint threatening to slip as he tightly clung to the reigns of his magic. Instead of throwing Arthur back the firewhisky bottle finally shattered, the remainder of the contents exploding outward with it and spilling all over the floor.

 _"No,"_ he said simply and defiantly, stepping forward as Merlin stepped back.

_"Arthur... I don't want to hurt you."_

_"You? Hurt me? You and I both know you'd never allow yourself to harm me."_ he forced a laugh into his voice, trying to put Merlin at ease. _"Sit down at the table. Tell me more about your Camelot."_

The request caught him off guard, and he stumbled as he stepped back away from Arthur's advancing form. When he found himself backed to the window again, Arthur reached out and grasped him by the elbow. _"You're drunk, Merlin. You can't exactly be held accountable for your actions in this state. Come back to the table. We'll talk about better things. And tomorrow, you'll tell me more about this evil sorcerer you couldn't fight and how it ties back to my sister. Alright?"_

They sat back at the table, and Arthur asked him about what it was like to legalize magic in the kingdom and his earliest days as Court Sorcerer. The challenges of overcoming his father's ideologies and bringing magic back to the people. He let Merlin talk until he could keep awake no longer, and then helped his friend to bed. He was clumsy enough when sober. And Arthur knew from experience that a drunk Merlin was a Merlin who managed to trip over air itself when left to his own devices. He managed to pull the fool wizard's shoes off and roll him onto the large bed, muttering to himself all the while that Merlin's bed was fit for a king while his own was just barely big enough for anyone.

When he had retired to his own rooms, sleep did not come easy. He paced by his window. He tossed and turned in his bed as his mind flip-flopped as it tried to reconcile two Merlins. The Merlin of their shared past who smiled and served him with absolute faith and devotion. His eternally clumsy best friend who would, and had, trade his life for his friends - especially for Arthur. The bravest, kindest man he had ever known... And then there was Merlin, the lord of Summerland Court. Serious and detached - even from Arthur. Carrying the weight of the world and all it's secrets on his back. Consumed by his anger and grief. This Merlin was buried under burden of their destinies alone all this time.

Realization dawned, as he replayed their nearly one-sided conversation in his mind. He knew Merlin would do anything, absolutely anything, to protect innocent people. If he had the power to stop a sorcerer threatening the safety and stability of his kingdom - be it Camelot or some other land - he knew Merlin would never hesitate to do what needed to be done to protect them. Except this time, he had. This time he stood by and watched because he wouldn't pay the price asked of him.

As sleep finally claimed him, Arthur knew the answer. Even in Camelot there was only ever one thing Merlin held most precious and treasured above all else, even his own life. If Merlin had stopped the evil sorcerer and prevented his bloody wars then Arthur would have remained at the bottom of that cursed lake forever. Trapped in Avalon for eternity.

Morning came far too quickly, with only a few hours of rest before a terrible banging at his door woke him from his uneasy dreams. Arthur dressed himself quickly, still pulling on his shoes when the lock on his door clicked and then opened. He glanced up from tying his shoes to see Merlin and the old woman, Minerva, framed in his doorway. _"What's happened?"_

Merlin, who looked like death, gestured to his neck. _"Pendant,"_ he said. Arthur turned to his bedside table, opening the drawer and fishing it out. No one spoke until Arthur had looped the chain over his head and let the now familiar weight settle against his chest. Arthur followed the two of them through the castle, to a room he had only been in twice thus far. The door was locked behind them, and Arthur couldn't help but bristle at the sensation that washed over him. It was much different from when Merlin used his magic around his king. Merlin's magic felt natural, like it had always been there. Arthur supposed he'd simply grown used to it, the fool of a servant having been using it around him constantly without his liege's knowledge. But what washed over him now, it felt wrong. Cold. Foreign.

It was the magic from the old woman as she placed enchantments on the room. For what purpose, Arthur could not yet discern.

"Does he know?" the old woman asked Merlin, who had seated himself on the corner of a desk, behind which the old woman sat. "Have you told him?"

"I- No. Not yet. I tried last night but-"

"He became drunk," Arthur said from where he stood behind a padded chair.

The old woman cast Merlin a reproachful look, causing the man to wince. "I still have a hangover," Merlin said regretfully.

"As you should," she quipped before turning her attention to Arthur. "I am unsure how much he may have told you, or not as the case may be. You are now aware that your return was meant to happen in our time of most dire need."

He nodded, crossing his arms across his chest, feeling his forehead crease as he concentrated on her voice and her words. It was a familiar pose, one he often took while in council and listening to updates on various situations regarding the safety of the kingdom. He kept his eyes on the woman, showing that she had his full attention. Merlin, meanwhile, sat with legs dangling either side of the desk corner, hands in pockets and head bowed as he listened.

Minerva quickly recounted the events of Morgana's return, in so much as she knew them. As she explained about the attack on the castle, and Merlin's supposed death, Arthur did his best to keep his emotions under tight control. The only outward sign that he was becoming more and more angry at what he was only just now learning. Arthur did not interrupt her until she spoke of things called dark marks, and those who had them. He asked only for clarification. After this, he now understood why Merlin had started to tell him about the other sorcerer and Merlin's decision not to get involved.

When she had finished recounting what led up to Arthur's return, she fixed Merlin with a steely gaze.

"Now that I know why I've been returned to the mortal world," Arthur said, glancing at Merlin... Merlin who would not look at him even now. "What has happened that has you running to fetch Merlin and I? I can do nothing against magic. My only powers are my skills as a knight and tactician, even then I relied heavily on Merlin and Guinevere's counsel before making many of my more strategic decisions."

She drew in a deep, slow breath as if to steady her nerves. "I received a message this morning at daybreak from the Minister of Magic. London, the capital of our kingdom," she said, trying to use words he would better understand. "Was attacked. Our queen and her family have been killed. Our houses of government have been destroyed. The magical realm, which has remained hidden from your kind for centuries since the Great Divide, can now be seen by muggles again. The capital has been placed under quarantine. There are magical barriers in place to prevent anyone from entering or leaving."

Merlin clenched his fists in his pockets, trying to keep his anger from boiling over and causing his magic to flare in response. "Morgana," he spat bitterly. "She doesn't know the throne no longer holds any power here."

"Since when has the Crown been powerless?"

"A very long time ago. Now is not the time for another history lesson, Arthur," Merlin barked. "How much of London still stands?"

"The government, both magical and muggle, are gone. The state of our country is in chaos."

"Is this limited to the UK or-"

"I do not know. The last of the message began to tell me about the true purpose of the attacks before the patronus disappeared."

Merlin knew what that meant. The sender was dead. "Tell me," Merlin demanded, a hard edge to his words that caused even Arthur's steely face to frown in concern.

"Her followers raided the Department of Mysteries."

"Why? Our prophecies aren't recorded there. Too old, too ancient to have been known by anyone who was not there."

"From what Kingsley's patronus relayed before he..." she drew another shaky breath. "Ancient relics of powerful magic were stolen. Most important among them had been The Veil."

This caused Merlin's head to snap up, the expression of panic written across his face was familiar to the former king. "No... Anything but that."

"No one knows how it works," Minerva said. "No one but you."

"I ordered them to destroy it. Those damned fools!"

"What is this Veil and what does it do? It sounds familiar-"

"Lancelot," was all Merlin said. It's all he had to say, for Arthur remembered the Cailleach. The tear in the fabric of life that Morgana had used to bring forth Lancelot from the great beyond.

"You mean to say that there was another of those things and-"

"I think I know what she means to do with it," Merlin said gravely before turning his attention to Minerva. "Thank you for coming to us with this. And I'm sorry you had to explain to Arthur... I should have told him myself."

"I have to tell the school. If I don't tell them something, you know Potter and his friends..."

"Of course," Merlin said with a nod.

Arthur thought the situation over for a few moments. "We open the doors and take people in. Magical people are not the only ones affected by this. Merlin, people with magic are your responsibility. But everyone else is mine. I can't fight magic, but I can defend those without it."

"Yeah? And where will we put them?"

"It's a castle, Merlin. I'm sure we'll find the room."

"Not everyone is accepting of magic. Especially after what's happened today. I don't think this is going to work. There was a reason I helped erect the barriers during the Great Divide. Muggle religion is responsible for killing so many of us. The Great Purge was nothing compared to what we went through. Uther would be proud of what they've done."

Arthur shook his head, and went to his friend. He reached out and put a hand on his arm, but when Merlin did not turn to him, he instead took the man by the shoulders and made him turn to look at him. "Merlin, you've told me of the prophecy about us. About Emrys and the Once and Future King. This is what we were born to do. We failed-"

"I failed, you died."

 **"WE,"** Arthur insists again. "We failed because we did not have complete trust between us. Had I known about your magic, well... we might have still failed. But Merlin, don't you see? It was there in your prophecy the entire time. This is our chance to correct our mistakes and try again. You must see that?"

Arthur searched his old friend's face. Silently, desperately pleading with him to listen. To understand what Arthur was trying to say. Merlin wasn't alone in this. He had Arthur at his side again. They alone knew how to fight Morgana. They alone knew what she was truly capable of. "No more lies. Let me do what I was brought back to do."

"Merlin, he's right. The muggles who will not bend to Morgana's will need a leader. Someone they can get behind. Who better than the greatest king they have ever known?"

"The world doesn't fight with swords and shields anymore. You don't know how to fight in this world. There is no honor, no knights, no-"

"Then I will learn, and I will lead them by example, just as I always have."

Their meeting concluded with Merlin agreeing to let any refugees into the castle - muggle and magical. If the natural order of magic drew them in, and they were not loyal to Morgana, then they would be welcome. Minerva decided to lay out the barest of information for general knowledge, but she would need to gather the remainder of the Order of the Phoenix together to discuss what to do next. How best to protect the castle and those who come seeking help. Strategize how to fight the ancient forces that were now against them.

The king and his warlock left her to it. Merlin walked with his head bowed in thought, and Arthur hurried his pace to keep up. It was a strange thing, this role reversal. Trailing along behind Merlin rather than having his servant follow him around. He had expected for his friend to retire to his chambers, or to sequester himself in his tower. Instead, as the rest of the castle was beginning to rouse for the day, Merlin went out.

"Where are we going?" he asked him.

"Oh, you're still here?"

"Of course I'm still here, idiot. Where else am I going to go?"

Merlin slowed his pace so that they could walk together rather than Arthur having to trail behind him in an undignified manner. "It's times like this," he began, "That I wish Kilgharrah were still around. He was a pain in the neck, but I could honestly use his guidance right about now."

"Who?"

Merlin winced. "Doesn't matter-"

" _Mer_ lin..."

"Alright fine. The dragon. That attacked Camelot. And before you start- No you didn't slay him I just told him off and sent him away. He helped me get you to Avalon... not that it did any good."

"What about that other one? The big white one at the top of your tower?"

"Aithusa? She's... she's different. She can't speak yet." He sighed, allowing his shoulders to droop and his steps to slow as Arthur realized they were heading in the direction of the lake. Merlin looked up as they approached. "Well, lacking a wise and powerful dragon, we'll go to the next best thing."

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"The Lady of the Lake, of course. I don't think you've ever properly met. Unless it was... well, wherever you've been for the last millennia."


End file.
